


Black Sustenance

by Meeps, Wolfheart01



Series: Black Sustenance [2]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Human Experimentation, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2020-11-15 11:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 56,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20865716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meeps/pseuds/Meeps, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfheart01/pseuds/Wolfheart01
Summary: Eddie Brock thought at first that his hatred for Spiderman, for Peter Parker, would never change. But as he and the Symbiote merge into the creature known as Venom, he finds that hatred isn't as simple as it seems...





	1. Imprinting

**Author's Note:**

> The original story was by Famira Damaris. They had no intentions of continuing it, and granted me permission and ownership of the fanfic.
> 
> If you want to read the original please go here: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/2004088/1/Black-Sustenance (chapter 1 is the prologue)
> 
> Italics for thoughts/emphasis/symbiote
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SPIDER-MAN, OR ANY OTHER CHARACTERS IN THIS FANFIC.

"Crap. Yet even more crap!" one black and white photo went sliding across the desk, followed by another. "Honestly, do you have anything not with the word 'crap' written all over it?"

Across the desk, Peter Parker sighed, "Sir, that's all I have. You wanted Spider-man, I got him for you."

"Yeah, but there's nothing dynamic about these! I can't have the same pictures with my headlines, Parker. You understand what that'd do to us? We'd lose readers up the ying yang if they thought they were buying the same paper they bought last week!"

_ They do practically buy the same paper. _ But Peter was wise enough to keep his mouth shut. He needed this job, especially since in a few years he'd have to start looking at colleges. ESU would be his ideal choice. Best to start preparing early. But that didn't mean he had to like this. It wasn't very consistent, as jobs went and with a man as volatile as J. Jonah Jameson as his boss, that meant he wasn't sure if he'd get fired or not on a whim, only to be un-fired the next day.  _ And to top all this off, I have to play Photo Whore just to keep a job where I get trashed every day by this man. _

The world was beyond unfair, Peter decided once again. But then again, what else was new?

" _ Parker _ !"

Peter jumped and managed to look sheepish.

"Honest to God, I'm ranting!"

"I can see that, sir."

"…Jesus Christ, kids these days! They never listen! Think they have the brains to run the damn place," Jameson grumbled. The older man leaned back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest. The editor shot a fierce glower at the teenager across the desk. Satisfied that he'd properly cowed the young photographer, Jameson picked up one of the photos, "Crappy or not, we'll run these anyway."

Peter perked up at this.

"But just this time. I want real photos next time. Moneymakers. Get my drift?"

Peter nodded and started to get up from his chair. Today's tirade had been surprisingly mild, especially considering how Jameson had been only three months ago. Back then he'd been totally spazzing, lashing out at any and all whoever even so much as met his eyes. But that made sense, considering the fact that his own son had almost died in that shuttle crash.

"I'll try harder," Peter pulled on his jacket and started for the door.  _ Guess I can't expect a thanks for that whole shuttle thing _ . But Peter really didn't want to remember that night and the weeks that followed…

"Remember, I want something with Spider-man. And while we're at it, that Venom-character."

Peter started at this and shot a look at Jameson.  _ Does he-? No, of course he doesn't. This's just about the paper. He doesn't know anything about what caused the crash _ . Backing out of the office, Peter made a face as soon as he was out of his employer's sight. As he picked up his pay for the photos, he waved absently to the others in the office before stepping into the elevator. It glided toward the lobby.

Peter bit his lip.  _ Why'd Jameson have to bring up Venom? _ A shudder ran quietly up the length of the brunette's back. He  _ still _ had nightmares about that whole ideal, no matter how many times he tried to just block it off by hanging around with Gwen Stacy and Mary Jane Watson. Even when Mary Jane tried to ask about it, Peter brushed her off. It was great and all that she knew his secret – that he could talk more freely with her than he could with anyone else – but he still had to draw the line somewhere.

Something things were just better off remaining unsaid.

_ I wonder if Venom's still out there. _ Three months and there hadn't been any sightings. Peter supposed by now that he should just get back to his life. But it wasn't hard to remember how he'd done so many stupid things to Eddie Brock before…the whole Venom thing. Peter raised his eyes heaven-ward. _ I shouldn't have tried to step in and take his job like that. I mean, I'm a kid. _ That  _ was _ his fault – for trying to out-shine an already seasoned reporter.

But the actual creation of Venom…how could Peter have known that Eddie was close by when he'd managed to ditch the symbiote? That Eddie must've seen the whole thing, found the symbiote when Peter removed it.  _ I couldn't have known _ . But Peter could have been more careful, one side of him chided. He should've known…

X

(Three months ago)

_ I almost killed him. _

_ Oh god. I really almost killed him. I-I…can't think. _

Spider-man stumbled down the alley. An old discarded beer can crunched under his feet as he leaned heavily against the wall. His whole body ached and a moan escaped past his lips as he slid down until he was lying on his side. It smelled horrible – he'd the brains to collapse right next to a dumpster – but he couldn't summon up the strength to move. The costume didn't want him to move anyway; he should just sleep and let those voices he'd been hearing take over. Let the symbiote watch over for the both of them until they were ready to move on.

But Spider-man couldn't sleep. Not when only a few minutes earlier, he'd nearly strangled a man to death. Who knew if the murderer he'd apprehended from that house managed to get to a hospital. If anything, the man could be dead now. But Spider-man hadn't been able to control himself when he'd seen Uncle Ben's death played out all over again, this time with complete strangers, and the costume had somehow amplified his rage until he'd been able to come to his senses the last second and drop the beaten man.

After that, Spider-man had fled blindly. He didn't even know where he was now, only that the smell of piss, puke and even worse things were right in his face and he couldn't even crawl away from the god-awful stench. And that wasn't even the worse of his problems.

Pain assaulted him from all sides and he curled up into a ball. His fingers clutched at the black material covering his body, but the costume snapped back without any marks. It felt like his skin was peeling away, melting (fusing?) to the symbiote.

Spider-man couldn't do this. He had to get away.

He was aware of the symbiote trying to send calming waves through the still forming bond. Realizing what the costume was trying to do it, Spider-man frantically summoned enough strength to claw at the smooth ebony costume on his chest, his arms, whatever he could reach. The alien material stretched and he couldn't suppress the cry of pain when his skin screamed in agony in response.

_ Don't do this. It makes our union that much more difficult. _

It took Spider-man a long second to realize that this wasn't his own thought, but the symbiote itself talking. Panting as waves of fire still flared up from where he'd tried to remove the costume, he managed to lever himself up onto his elbows and drag himself away further into the darkness. If he wasn't going to be sick from the putrid scent of trash and human waste, it was going to be from the pain alone. Soon he completely forgot about the man he'd nearly killed minutes before as the pain continued to increase.

_ Stop! I don't want this! _

The symbiote tried again to calm him, but Spider-man continued to reject it.  _ You don't know what you want, Peter. _

_ I don't want _ you

Spider-man tried to get to his feet but fell to his knees immediately. He'd never been in this much danger before; not when he'd tried to take on the Kingpin, not even when he'd been shot by the cops after that whole imposter-Spider-man incident that left Gwen without her father and abandoned by her mother. Pain everywhere. Hundreds of little fangs digging into his body. He was being eaten alive and his damned spider-sense wasn't even going off.

Spider-man had to end this. The symbiote was trying to coerce him like it almost had when he'd gone out of control. He knew what it was thinking just as it knew even now what he was considering doing to free himself. Could he do it? Just something simple, like throwing them both into the Hudson and drown the two of them?

He thought about this and in his pain-muddled mind, he knew he couldn't. Not when there was still a chance to be free of this mistake clinging to his body, this alien trying to conquer him. Not when he still had MJ. Aunt May. Gwen. His whole life still out there, interrupted by this stupid costume that was going to kill him at the rate the pain was escalating.  _ I've… got to find a way to get it off me _ . After that he could contain it, dump it somewhere where it could be incinerated. Be free of it and lead his already unnatural life as normally as he could.

But did he really want to do that? The symbiote made him better, faster. More superior to the normal humans than he already was. The pain would go away, like all the other times he'd been hurt. This was a good kind of pain. It wasn't so terrible…

The realization that this was yet another invasion of his thoughts, that the symbiote again had tried to suggest that those were actually  _ his _ thoughts, was like a dash of cold water. Clenching his teeth together, Spider-man crawled forward one foot. Two feet. Three. Four, and more and more until he was at the end of the ally. How could he do this? His head spun drunkenly and he almost passed out right there and then as his vision faded in and out.

_ I can't do this. _

"Don't you dare tell me what to do!" Spider-man hissed. He wasn't even aware he'd spoke aloud. "You're not me!"

_ How do you know I'm not? How can you argue with yourself? _

"Because you're doing it! Leave me alone!" somehow Spider-man had summoned the strength to get to his feet during this exchange. They trembled but didn't spill out from under him this time. He didn't think he'd be able to get up again if they did. One foot in front of the other. He had to find some way to dislodge the costume before he lost the will-power to do so.

Step by step. Soon he reached the cone of light from a street-lamp.

The pain increased in response. If Spider-man could be violently sick, he would be heaving right into his costume right now. But he couldn't – whether it was because he hadn't eaten or because the symbiote wouldn't let him was anyone's guess. In the pained haze he was wandering through, he almost found the latter funny. How hygienic. The stupid thing didn't want him barfing into its face. Or wherever its stupid face was assuming it even had one.

Spider-man found himself staring in a daze up at the midnight sky. He tried to focus, forget how the pain invading his body was starting to level out into a pleasant numbness. The lack of feeling had to be worse than the preceding pain. It meant that the costume had bonded even more to his body. Maybe permanently.

And for some reason, all he could think about was that Aunt May was going to wig out at him for being out this late. He'd be grounded for life. And then some, if he was lucky.

Spider-man's vision blurred. Dammit, he wasn't going to pass out right here in the open like an idiot. Not before he ditched the symbiote and put miles between him and it. Then, as soon as he was far away from it, he could pass out wherever he felt like.  _ I have to force it off _ . Sound waves wouldn't affect the symbiote – that criminal with those hand weapons tried that earlier and it'd just tingled then. But a big energy surge…Spider-man knew that the symbiote had been careful to keep him from contacting electricity…

The only thing close that Spider-man could reach in his condition was the power-lines. Could he even take that amount of electricity? Super-powered or not, he wasn't invincible.  _ I…can I? _ What was he even thinking about again? He couldn't remember through the fog as he sagged listlessly to the side under the lamp light. Something important. Something really, really important…

But somehow he felt relaxed. Drifting away.

Drifting toward becoming one.

_ One? _ …Wait.

_ Oh shit. _

Spider-man shook himself through the fog dulling his senses. He had to do this. Forcing his limbs to move and tearing control from the Other's fake-thoughts, from the black costume trying to assume command, he started climbing up the nearest telephone pole. The power-lines had to have a transformer. Something. Anything that would hopefully knock this alien flat on its ass. Probably him too, but he was hoping the symbiote would take the brunt of it.

That was the general idea, at least. Either way, he had to try.

Spider-man reached the top of the telephone pole after what felt like an eternity of climbing. He almost fell off once – the symbiote tried to dislodge him by making the fingers of the costume frictionless but he only clung onto the wooden surface with a feverish death-grip. Cursing the alien costume out mentally, swearing up and down that he'd fall off and break his neck on purpose, see if that did either of them any good, he made to the top without any further problems.

By then, it was starting to rain. Thank God. That meant that he'd conduct the electricity a lot better – no worries about the voltage being too weak now. Reaching out and breaking the transformer's protective casing, Spider-man was surprised to see that his hands were shaking. But that made sense considering how messed up he felt right now.

_ …Here goes. _

The costume was deathly silent. Spider-man could feel the anger coursing through the jet-black symbiote.

Spider-man punched into the transformer. He stiffened as electricity ran into him with a powerful jolt. Even through the costume, he could feel the electricity running in a current through his exposed frame. All around him, the symbiote was roiling, a black mass of inky tendrils and fangs. He couldn't tell if it was him or the symbiote making that horrible screaming sound. Something was starting to smoke in the rain and he sincerely hoped that the sizzling sound wasn't coming from him but the alien..

There was a particularly powerful surge of energy and suddenly Spider-man was sailing out into the damp night. All around him, he could see the symbiote pulling apart from his body in inky blobs, black streamers that twisted and convulsed with a life of their own.

The ground came up quickly and Peter hit it hard. Stars burst in his vision. All around him, the symbiote splattered onto the sidewalk like black rain. Winded, the brunette tried to get to his feet, but he couldn't do more than crawl away as fast as his battered body would allow him. He'd crawled several yards away before finally collapsing in exhaustion. Raising his head, long bangs plastered against his forehead by the rain, he eyed the puddles of black ooze lying under the damaged telephone pole.

Was it over?

The symbiote wasn't moving. Was it dead?

_ Maybe I killed it _ . It was bubbling a little bit, but it wasn't trying to get him. So he either killed it. Or at least stunned it. His mind was quickly starting to clear from the haze induced by the contact with the alien costume. His entire body ached, not just from wearing the costume, but from the contact with the transformer. His limbs weren't quite reacting like he wanted them to. Every now and then they gave a little convulsing twitch. Hopefully that would go away. He'd have a hard time explaining to Aunt May why he'd suddenly developed a nervous reaction like that.

Minutes passed before Peter tried to get to his feet. Using the wall for support and realizing he was far more cold than he should be, he looked down. A stupefied pause. Peter wasn't wearing a scrap of clothing; the stupid symbiote not only tried to possess him (or whatever it was doing), it'd apparently eaten up his original Spider-man costume. As if it couldn't have done anything else wrong, the freaky thing just had to go and do that.

_ That's just pure evil _ , Peter scowled.  _ MJ's going to wonder why this keeps happening to me… _

Not only that, but he was missing his web-shooters. Wonderful.  _ Those things were expensive _ …but at least he was alive and that was better than where he could've been.

The black ooze puddles still hadn't moved since last time. It was bad enough that he was butt-naked – in a bad neighborhood, no less – but the fact remained that disposing of the black costume was his first priority. He needed a container that had a good seal on it. Staggering over to the dumpster he'd seen earlier, he rummaged around for a container. Peter gagged at the interesting array of smells from the dumpster, but managed to keep from getting gloriously sick.

The sixteen year-old returned with a small soda bottle. It wasn't that strong – just a plastic green one, the wrapping torn partially off – but it still had the cap. He didn't expect it to hold the remnants of the alien costume that long, just long enough for him to get plenty of distance away from it.

Peter approached the black ooze cautiously, bare feet padding silently on the side-walk. No reaction, just the quiet bubbling from the thick puddles glistening in the lamp-light. He knelt down.

"You're more trouble than you're worth," Peter said quietly. He wished it was possible to give the symbiote a good stabbing, but he had the feeling that stabbing it would be just as successful as trying to stab jelly.

Careful to not let any of it touch him, Peter spent a few minutes scooping up the ooze with the bottle cap and pouring it into the soda bottle. Once it was full and he didn't see any signs of the alien substance around the area, he capped the bottle. Inside it, the thick liquid continued to bubble innocently.

_ So now what? _

He hadn't thought about it. His first idea had been to throw it into the ocean, but he was miles away from that. He didn't think he'd have the energy to get over there anyway, especially not without his web-shooters. Peter sighed, staring hard at the bottle. Definitely more trouble than this was all worth. There was no way he was going to bring it back home with him to toss out later. Not if there was a danger of it coming into contact with him again. It was too dangerous for his friends and family. Peter glanced around. There wasn't a lot of options. He just wanted to go home and  _ sleep _ .

Peter sighed. This was probably stupid, but… _ it won't be my problem. It's too dangerous if it's with me. Besides, it's probably dead _ . Returning to the dumpster, he tossed the sealed bottle in. The garbage trucks would come by in the morning and dump it in a landfill far away from here. The symbiote, if it was even alive, wouldn't have anything to feed on in such a place. It would be out of his hands and no one would get hurt.

It had been stupid for him to hope that things would work out. Peter limped back home, thinking things would right themselves after all that had happened. He limped back thinking the symbiote would be out of his life for good.

It never even left New York; like everything, he found that out the hard way.

X

(Three months later)

"You're never going to tell me how you  _ really _ lost the last costume, are you?"

Peter rolled the lollipop around in his mouth as he lounged in the armchair and watched Mary Jane. The red-head was working on his new Spider-man costume, fixing a particularly big tear he didn't remember getting from the last fight he had. The sewing machine hummed quietly as he pretended to be suddenly interested in the ceiling of his aunt's basement.

"I already told you, MJ: one of my fans took it. Said she was going to never wash it and hang it up on her wall," Peter said, speaking around the lollipop. "I bet she's going to sell it for a crapload of money. Money I'll never see since I'm destined to be dirt-poor because of fangirls."

His best friend only laughed. "Come  _ on _ , Peter. You're just making stuff up now."

"Okay, I lied; fan _ boys _ ."

Still bent over the sewing machine, Mary Jane rolled her eyes, "I'm going to keep bugging you until you tell me. I mean, I'd like to know how you lose one of my replacements I made just like that. And where you got that weird black one I saw on the news that night."

"…I just found that. It cramped my style, so I ditched it," Peter said off-handedly.

"Right. And that explains why you arrive at my house practically naked  _ how? _ "

"Hey, you weren't complaining about that."

"So?"

"Voyeur."

"What the hell?" Mary Jane laughed, the sounds of the sewing machine stopping for a second as she shot a grin at him.

"I see what you're up to, peeping tom."

"Peter, peeping  _ tom _ ? Since when did I start switching genders?"

"Those, MJ, are minor technicalities. Besides, you ask yourself that.  _ You're _ the peeping tom, not me."

Mary Jane waved the finished Spider-man mask at Peter. "I think you're forgetting one important thing and that's that I'm the only one who can repair these things. I keep you clothed so you don't run around in whatever you pulled out of the closet."

"What if I  _ like _ what I pull out of the closet?" Peter asked, grinning as he caught the mask MJ threw at him. "I like to think I look dashing."

"Dashing? Uh huh, sure. Right. Just remember to be nice to me since I make sure that you don't run around naked."

"Like last time."

"Like last time," Mary Jane agreed solemnly.

Peter was just as serious. "Like last time when you were totally sneaking peeps at me."

"I was  _ not _ !" Mary Jane looked for something else to throw at him. Peter ducked the roll of red thread as it came sailing at him and bounced off the armrest. It rolled under the chair he was sitting in. Mary Jane pointed imperiously. "Go get that."

"Why? You threw it."

Mary Jane shook the entire tray filled with thread rolls at him threateningly and Peter scurried after the thread she'd thrown at him. Reaching under the chair, he felt about for the floor for a second before his hands closed around the plastic. He turned and knelt before Mary Jane, holding it out in his hands with his head bowed in mock obedience.

"Here, Your Majesty. A token of my love," Peter said, offering the red thread.

Mary Jane took it back. "Good boy; you're forgiven," she said and patted his head.

"Now why do I suddenly feel like a dog?"

The red-head smiled, but her reply was cut off by the sounds of footsteps on the basement stairs. She hurriedly pulled the costume off the sewing machine and stuffed it under the desk she was working on, kicking the small backpack she'd brought with her over it. Peter leapt up and threw the Spider-man mask he'd been holding into a drawer near Mary Jane's leg. He closed it quickly; cursed quietly as he realized he'd closed the drawer right on top of the mask, shoved it further inside, and closed it again.

There was a knock and the door opened at the same time. Peter froze from where he knelt near Mary Jane. A tall blond teenager stepped into the basement room, a small load of laundry in her arms. The young woman stopped, raising an eyebrow at the scene: Mary Jane was sitting with her back to the desk, Peter kneeling down at her feet, both frozen as if caught red-handed in something.

"Is there something I'm missing?" Gwen asked. "Don't tell me you're 'studying'."

Peter quickly shot to his feet, face flushing slightly red. He knew Gwen's strange little innuedos. "We're not! Really! It's not –"

"-what it looks like," Mary Jane finished.

Gwen snorted, setting down her laundry on the washing machine a few feet from the desk. She began loading her clothing into it. Peter glanced at the sewing machine. The needle was still threaded with red, blue and black, but nothing too incriminating. Still, Gwen was too close to the hidden costume. She had only to happen to look over between the rather generous space between the wall and the desk, and she'd catch a glimpse of the Spider-man costume. Exchanging glances with Mary Jane, Peter popped to his feet.

"Hey, um, let's do something today, Gwen!"

Gwen began measuring out detergent. "Like what?"

"Well, we could go see a movie," Mary Jane said quickly. "Let's go after this. We haven't done anything together in a long time."

Gwen thought about this and shrugged. "Sure. Just as soon as I finish my laundry."

The darkly-clad blond paused, her array of bracelets jangling as she thought of something. She turned and stared at Mary Jane and Peter – they were tensed, looking at her expectantly. Just what were they waiting fo – oh.  _ That _ . They weren't finished with their "studying", Gwen smirked, especially since she'd apparently interrupted something. It was almost cute how they tried to pretend they weren't up to something whenever she was around. And for that reason, Gwen decided to tease them:

"Pete, let's make this a date."

Peter stared, wide-eyed. "A date? As in date-date? As in we'll-eventually-suck-each-other's-faces-off date?"

"Sure. Why not? If you can 'study', you've got time for a date with little me," Gwen grinned, leaning with exaggerated care on the washing machine. She was an extremely pretty girl, if a bit on the tall side, and she knew it. Even crazy over Mary Jane, Peter couldn't help but ogle. The red-head in question was looking ready to give her best friend a nice kick in the shins.

"Hey, hey, no need to get jealous, MJ," Gwen said before that could happen. She winked to show she was only fooling around; they had to both know that she respected them too much to try to break them apart. "There's  _ plenty _ of Gwen to go around for  _ everyone _ !"

"Good God. She's pimping herself out now," Peter muttered to Mary Jane.

"Getting too big for her britches," Mary Jane muttered back.

Gwen planted her hands on her hips and pretended to look offended. "What's this I hear? Is that the sound of my underlings trying to rebel?"

"Definitely too big for her britches," Peter agreed.

"Hey, I can manage the both of you. So long as you agree to be good children and share me."

"And what's this about underlings?" Mary Jane asked.

"After all, even I can't do anything if you all fight over me. Although that would be one helluva cat-fight, but that's besides the point…"

"She's delusional," Peter said.

"I'd say."

Gwen sniffed and gathered her empty hamper after dumping the detergent bottle inside. "You obviously can't appreciate me and my many fine points yet. But the date's still open to both of you."

"We're honored," Mary Jane said wryly. "I think."

Gwen started for the stairs. "Anyway, I don't care what we do – so long as we get out of the house."

Gwen's footsteps retreated back up to the first floor before Peter dared to relax. Bantering with Gwen was one thing, but doing it in such a situation wasn't something he really cared for. Next to him, Mary Jane sighed and looked over at the door. It was closed again and since sound didn't carry too well in the basement, it was probably safe to talk again. Peter still had a slightly dazed look on his face, the lollipop forgotten in his mouth. Mary Jane grimaced; she'd grown to really like Gwen after getting used to the unpredictable girl, but honestly, she wished Peter wouldn't act so floored by her every time the blond pretended to hit on him.

Which, as it was, happened to be a lot.

"Okay, back to business," Mary Jane said finally. She had to prod Peter with her foot to get his attention.

"Uh…yeah, sorry," Peter ducked his head sheepishly. "…Okay, why can't we do this at your house again?"

"Because my mom would freak out. I mean, she lightened up a lot after kicking my dad out, but…" Mary Jane shook her head, red curls bouncing. "We just need to be more careful next time."

"Yeah," Peter said. He pulled out his red mask from the drawer, running fingers over the black webbing. "Thanks for doing this."

"I seriously should teach you how to sew sometime – like, what if I'm not there to make these kinds of repairs and your costume splits or you moon all of New York or something?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Sewing machines hate me. I mean, I tried touching one before. I swear to God it tried to eat my hand."

"Traumatized for life?" Mary Jane laughed. "And here I thought it took a lot more than that…"

There was an awkward silence at this.

Mary Jane remembered all too well some of her traumatizing experiences: her situation with her family and the things that had started happened after Peter had shown her his secret. Foremost were the memories of being tossed off a bridge by the Green Goblin; if Peter hadn't caught her at the last minute, she would've broken her neck from the impact of the water. Second was when she'd found Peter one night lying in a dumpster, shot by the police, and bleeding all over.  _ I shouldn't be able to take this _ . But somehow she did manage to stick by Peter; it wasn't that easy, worrying about him whenever he ran off to do his self-appointed job and wondering if that was the last time she'd ever see him.

Peter himself had too many memories like that, ones he wanted to just avoid thinking about right now. Forcing a sunny smile on his face, the brunette bent over Mary Jane's sewing machine, pretending to examine it.

"Well, I guess I could  _ try _ to learn how to sew," Peter said dubiously. "But if you have to rescue me, I want you to know it's  _ your _ idea to feed me to this thing."

Mary Jane pulled out the rest of the costume with a patient smile. "Don't worry, Peter. I'll be there to save you."

X

Eddie Brock glanced up at the sky. It was starting to get chilly, a brisk breeze rattling the drying leaves lining the small side-street and sending the fallen leaves tumbling along merrily. The sun was overhead, meaning it was going to be a nice and cool Saturday afternoon. That pleased both him and his Other; the symbiote disliked heat, especially extreme temperatures. And because they were bonded so nicely, that meant that Eddie didn't care for hot summer days either. They'd suffered in silence back a few months ago, but things had changed for the better since then.

Eddie hadn't bothered to get dressed when they'd left the abandoned apartment a week ago. As always, the symbiote proved its infinite usefulness as it did over and over again by forming his clothing for him. To all appearances, he wore black jeans and a simple black jacket over a clinging turtleneck of the same color; a material that seemed to catch the light and swallow it. It was surprisingly quite comfortable to wear. And nice and cold too.

_ We must think this through. Plan carefully. Can't kill our prey. _

Naturally Eddie knew where Peter Parker lived; the boy's memories were imprinted on the symbiote after all. Back when Venom had just been born, he would've just charged in headlong, ripped apart the little Queens' house and dragged the young Spider out after slaughtering all the other inhabitants. But three months and then some had given Eddie and the symbiote plenty of time to mature.

Violence, while often a good answer to most problems, wouldn't work here. At least not immediately.

_ We're too strong now. If we act like a youngling, we won't become one with our Spider. _

"Exactly."

Hence why they were holding back. Glad to see their trains of thought were so identical.

"We'll watch the house," Eddie said aloud. He stood under the shadow of a tree across the street from the Parker residence, watching the modest two-story dwelling with narrowed eyes. No movement so far. But people  _ were _ in there.

_ Re-union. Our Spider _ ... The symbiote's growing excitement was contagious and Eddie found himself starting to smile in anticipation: they both could detect Peter's special presence even from here, although it was faint at this distance.

It wouldn't be long. They could afford to wait a week, a month at worst.

Eddie knew that being so close to the Spider made him need servicing right now but he suffered through it. The symbiote couldn't do that out in public. He'd just have to wait until they finished for today. Still, it made him tense and while he was delighted to be so close to Parker, he was also starting to get cranky. _ Leave the house, Spider _ , he hissed mentally.  _ Just go out on one of your little patrols so we can have a nice little talk. Or at least so we can see your face again. _

But there was still no movement from the Parker house.

The shadows cast by the trees had moved a few feet over before there was activity worth noting. Jolted by this from his latest fantasy regarding Peter, restraints and using electricity on the Spider (see how  _ he _ liked that), Eddie looked up. The front door of the Parker house had opened. Eddie turned and leaned nonchalantly against the tree, casting his gaze sidelong to watch the house. The Spider couldn't catch them on that little spider-sense of his, and if he were to glance over in Eddie's direction, it would only appear that a stranger was waiting for someone from another house.

Eddie watched as two girls left the Parker home. One was tall, bright blond hair spilling past her shoulders. Bracelets of metal and plastic covered her wrists, and she was casually slinging a studded leather jacket over her shoulder as she pretended to tap her black booted feet waiting for her companions. The second girl was familiar – Eddie knew her well from the symbiote's memories.

_ Mary Jane. _

One of the people that the Spider had thought about constantly. Her fiery hair was shorter than they remembered, but they recognized very well her movements, her appearance. Even if Mary Jane had pulled the hood of her forest-green sweater over her head before she'd stepped into view, Eddie would have still known who she was. He knew that while he hadn't anything against her, she was still a threat to their goal. And the symbiote itself didn't care for her, seeing as she was one of the reasons the Spider had fought free of the first attempt at bonding.

But neither the strange blond nor Mary Jane were worth more than a cursory glance right now.

The real prize was when Peter Parker left the house, trotting down short steps to join his friends. Heat boiled up all over Eddie's body and he had to stop from fully morphing into Venom and taking the Spider for himself right now. The Spider he always envisioned in his head couldn't compare to the real thing.

_ All ours. All ours _ , the symbiote whispered.

"All ours," Eddie agreed softly, watching their prey as if arrested. "He belongs to us."

Peter looked a bit older than the last time they'd met – whatever had happened in those three months since then had changed him. He'd…matured. They could tell that just by the way he moved. His appearances were overall the same as they remembered, had obsessed over for all this time: shortly-cut coffee-brown bangs framed an expressive face already growing lines of weariness. Peter'd just thrown on a black shirt over a long-sleeved blue one, but that didn't quite conceal the lean muscles of the Spider.

How old was Peter anyway? Oh yes. Not seventeen, since his birthday wasn't for a while. Still sixteen then.

Still but a child in Eddie's eyes. Still but a youngling in the symbiote's.

_ Not that age matters _ . They both wanted the Spider and they would get what they wanted.

Eddie watched as Peter talked for a few minutes with his friends. The boy listened to something the tall blond girl said and then laughed with Mary Jane about it. Eddie found that his teeth were grinding together in sheer frustration. They were mocking him, daring him to make a move. But that's what they wanted, wasn't it? For him to blindly rush forward in their lust.  _ No. We're smarter than that now. We know better. _

Right now the Spider wasn't ready for their union. He had too many things to fight for, too many things that would make him too strong, his will too powerful. If he rejected them again, there wouldn't be any more chances, not if their prey had fought as desperately as before.

_ We can't back him into that corner yet _ . Peter Parker would just fight tooth and nail if they just pursued him right now; that would be very…unpleasant. Not just for Spider-man, but for all parties concerned. And as powerful as they were as Venom, they had no desire to make it more difficult than it had to be. After all, that wasn't productive. It'd just waste their energy. It was hardly efficient to operate like that when patience would pay off more than the waste.

There was still plenty of time.

_ …no need for us to rush just yet… _

X

Peter blinked as Mary Jane and Gwen calculated how much money they'd have to spend for the movies and dinner. He could've sworn someone was watching him.  _ Funny. Is my spider-sense going wonky? _ It shouldn't; normally it was fairly accurate. It'd saved his life – and the lives of others – plenty of times. No reason to start doubting it. The brunette glanced about, eyebrows knit together in concentration. There wasn't anyone he could see on the street except for a dark shadow of man a few houses away and he was just -

" – so that's fine with you, Peter?"

Peter turned toward Gwen, puzzled. "What?"

"Twenty dollars per person for the movie and dinner. How's that sound?"

"Oh. Um…yeah, sounds fine," Peter said quickly. He glanced back to where he'd seen the man.

The man was gone. But the growing unease remained…

To be continued


	2. My Personal Watchdog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original story was by Famira Damaris. They had no intentions of continuing it, and granted me permission and ownership of the fanfic.
> 
> If you want to read the original please go here: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/2004088/1/Black-Sustenance (chapter 1 is the prologue)
> 
> Italics for thoughts/emphasis/symbiote
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SPIDER-MAN, OR ANY OTHER CHARACTERS IN THIS FANFIC.

The bus ride wasn't too bad; Peter felt a lot better once they got off at their stop, and he couldn't help but wonder if maybe the whole superhero gig was making him a bit too jumpy. He wouldn't be surprised if it was, but still…there wasn't any reason for him to be looking over his shoulder all the time. There hadn't been anything really big for the last couple of months and the worst he had faced since then was a couple of carjackers who fled the second they caught a glimpse of blue and red. Aside from that, there hadn't been much need for him to suit up and he spent more and more time as Peter Parker hanging out with his friends then swinging around on patrols as Spider-man. I'm getting way too paranoid, Peter sighed as he glanced yet again behind them, the bus pulling away into traffic.

The three of them headed into the large Loews theater. Surrounded by the smell of buttered popcorn and the bright lights lining the main hall, Peter found himself relaxing, checking over his shoulder less and less as he focused his attention on the here and now.

Gwen pocketed her ticket stub from the usher and joined them in the main area of the lobby.

"So! Who's up for popcorn?"

Mary Jane winced, "Not too much – I'm not that hungry."

"What about you, Pete?"

Peter shook his head. "I guess I could just share a Coke or something with MJ."

"Awww…that's so cute of you two," Gwen grinned. "That's fine, just don't make out too loudly, okay? Some of us are here to see the movie."

Peter rolled his eyes at this. "We'll try to keep it down for your sake."

Gwen led the way into the theatre – the tickets said it would be the fifth, found on the right down the hall. Peter hung back until he was walking side by side with Mary Jane down the hall. The red-head smiled at him, keeping her voice down;

"Y'know, I'm glad we're doing this, just hanging out and stuff."

Peter nodded. He held open one of the double doors into the dark auditorium for Mary Jane. "Me too. I can just have fun for once, like a normal person."

They entered the amphitheatre, going up the narrow aisle and pausing at the stadium seating. It was fairly full, and with the way everyone was seated, there wasn't any room of them to sit together as a group. Gwen stopped, looking put-out as she chewed thoughtfully at her lip for a moment.

"Well, this sucks," she said. "Now what?"

Peter glanced quickly at the available seats. He saw a few paired seats scattered here and there, but that left the problem of who would be sitting with who. He could sit with Gwen or sit with Mary Jane, leaving one or the other to sit alone, neither of which were probably good ideas. He had to admit that he liked Gwen a lot – maybe more than he should, for a friend - and Mary Jane seemed to give him weird looks whenever he hung out with Gwen too much. Peter didn't know what the deal was with that. He didn't want to have to make this decision right now, not when they were supposed to be having fun and hanging out.

"I'll, uh, go get popcorn," Peter said quickly. He started trotting back to the lobby outside, giving a wave. "I'll be right back."

"Wait, Peter – "

The auditorium suddenly darkened, casting Mary Jane and Gwen in flickering darkness. Gwen grabbed Mary Jane's hand in hers.

"The trailers are starting, let's get a seat."

Mary Jane paused indecisively for a moment before she followed. "But…"

"Peter hates trailers," Gwen said with a shrug. "It's not like he'll miss anything."

The red-headed girl frowned. She hadn't known that Peter didn't like movie trailers and for some reason, this seemed like very vital information, as if it was something she as his best friend should have known. It rankled somehow that Gwen knew this but she hadn't. I'm not jealous. Mary Jane had to repeat this before she could offer a tentative smile in the darkness, glancing up as Gwen led her up the steps to some seats in the aisle.

"You're right. Besides, how long could it take for him to get popcorn?"

X

Eddie found this part of town tiresome. Too many bright lights – in the middle of the day, no less! – too many people, too many offensive smells that the normal humans seemed oblivious to. The symbiote had to agree, murmuring it was a wonder how humans could comfortably wallow in their own filth and not be sickened by it. Unhygienic little beasts. The only solace Eddie could take was that at least he wasn't in the middle of all that garbage, walking with the others on the sidewalks like sheep, like pigs; instead he was suspended comfortably several stories up, perched up against the wall under deep shadows cast by an overhang. He sat back on his heels, gazing down at the movie theater below.

The Spider had gone inside a while ago with his little friends. Chances were the boy could be in there for a few hours, unless he happened to sense something wrong outside – so far, it was quiet and Eddie wished that one of those idiots would hurry up and rob a bank or steal a purse or whatever it took to get his prey's attention. Eddie debated with himself whether or not he should just follow Peter inside. There was a good chance Peter would recognize his human face if he sauntered right in, and the Spider knew that Eddie Brock had no love for him. Besides, he knew Eddie was Venom. A face to face confrontation in public could be problematic. Enjoyable, yes. But while Venom was powerful, Venom was also still maturing. Eddie still didn't have access to all the gifts the symbiote could offer him. A direct confrontation in such a crowded area might not be the way to go, at least not yet.

Waiting for Peter proved to be rather boring. Eddie tried amusing himself by carving out some of the wall behind him, but tearing up ribbons of concrete and brick lost its amusement factor quickly. The symbiote was surprisingly dormant, deciding that all this waiting simply wasn't worthy of its attention, leaving its host to his own devices.

Eddie's face was calm and composed, but inside he was starting to beat his head into a wall, frustrated and impatient. Anger curled in his head and stomach like a snake, hissing and heavy and getting increasingly irritated. Where were the damn criminals? He knew that Spider-man had made plenty of enemies by now – the Green Goblin, Doctor Octopus, among others equally insignificant and unworthy – and he wished that one of them would get it into his head to go into a rampage and draw his Spider out.

Eddie heaved a growling sigh.

He waited an hour and started into the next when he suddenly picked up the scent of something burning. A few experimental sniffs. He tuned his heightened senses forward, perking up. Something on fire. The symbiote recoiled a little at this with loathing. Fire. Electricity. They hated them both with equal passion. Still, if he could smell it this far away, it meant that Spider-man would probably come sallying forth from that movie theater like the little hero he pretended he was once he sensed it as well. Eddie leaned forward expectantly, eyes on the Loews' entrance.

It took a bit longer than he expected – he could spot the column of smoke rising in the distance and growing, and sirens had begun to wail before he spotted Peter. The sixteen year-old glanced left and right before slipping into a side alley, forced to hide behind a dumpster as he hurriedly changed into his quaint little costume. Eddie personally thought that the boy was asking for it when he donned that teasing thing. It clung tightly to his body, as if begging for Peter to get jumped. It was a wonder that none of the others declaring themselves his enemy hadn't taken advantage of that.

Foolish, all of them.

Indeed. The symbiote agreed. But less competition. Convenient for us if we don't have to fend off challengers for our rightful claim to him.

The symbiote was right, as always.

But of course, Host Mine.

Eddie had always liked it when the symbiote called him that – the symbiote desperately wanted the Spider like he did, but there was a strange kind of affection for its current host as well. It had been a long time since it had a host that it considered intelligent and somewhat civilized, and while Eddie knew that the ancient Other probably thought he was crude at times, it was an odd comfort to know that he could always count on the "voice" to always be there.

Your destiny is my destiny, little human, the symbiote had said when Eddie came upon it wandering around that fateful night, when it had been wallowing around, trapped and dying in that bottle. Eddie had been seriously debating how to end his life at that time, too fed up with all the bullshit the world kept throwing at him. I will give you life if you will give me mine. I will give you purpose and much more if only you would accept the gifts I offer.

It hadn't been that hard of a choice. Despite the discomforts and changes due to their bonding, Eddie wasn't at all sorry.

Eddie watched as Peter finally finished changing, pulling the mask over his young face with a tug. He remained in the shadows as the Spider came swinging by on a line of webbing, completely intent on the tower of smoke several miles away and following the sirens and flashing lights of the emergency units buzzing the streets down below. Eddie waited a few more minutes before creeping out under the overhang, the symbiote's black material morphing around his body and face in thickening tendrils, forming claws and fangs and a roiling, slimy serpentine tongue that flicked and tasted the air.

Lazily extending one clawed wrist forward, Venom shot loose a string of web, and set off in pursuit of his prey. He was careful to keep a safe distance, keeping the red and blue of Spider-man just in sight, taking his time and web-slinging leisurely from building to building. No need to hurry. They had plenty of time.

Fire engines were already attacking the burning building with powerful jets of water by the time Spider-man arrived. He paused for only a few minutes, listening in on a couple of cops talking amongst themselves. From the way he took off in another direction, it seemed like this fire wasn't just some accident, Venom decided. Not with the kind of purpose his Spider was moving with.

He still wasn't sure what he hoped to accomplish by stalking his prey. The symbiote reminded him that by keeping an eye on the boy – their boy – they were simply keeping track of property, but he couldn't understand just what the point was following him all over as he played at Cops and Robbers. Well, think of this as exercise, then, purred the symbiote. Putting you through your paces. Even we need to get out and move to keep us strong and fit to hunt.

Good point as any, Venom supposed.

They trailed Spider-man as he glided around a corner, swinging between the canyons of concrete with his typical grace and closing in on a swerving black van. Silently, he let go of his web-line and flipped through the air in a neat arc, long arms and legs tucked in like a professional and landing on the top of the van, causing it to careen off to the left. Venom hung back, keeping several hundred feet up just for safety's sake, and watched with interest. Their Spider had indeed improved; less gawky, more in control, and by default now more desirable.

A few gunshots rang out. Spider-man somersaulted neatly out of the way, seeming to fall off the side of the van only to come back with a kick through the driver's window, his lithe body sliding right through shattering glass and disappearing into the vehicle. The black van swerved uncontrollably and careened to the right, sliding until it began to tip over and flip onto its side. It slammed into a lamp post, sending civilians scurrying for cover as masked men spilled out, coughing as smoke billowed out. Venom was prepared to sit back and watch until the last criminal popped out.

Correction: more like oozed out.

First a nondescript head popped up, followed by a torso in a stripped shirt. Venom wouldn't have been able to pick him out of the other humans. The muscled man hauled himself out, the van still rocking underneath him as Spider-man dealt with the men upfront and suddenly he was slithering out in a mass of what appeared to be sand. The sand mass arced out and curled around, slamming into the broken driver side window like a bullet. Venom caught a glimpse of Spider-man getting propelled out the other side, glass shards sparkling out like snow, as the man of sand came barreling out after him.

You most certainly have an interesting world, Host Mine, the symbiote commented.

"Hey, people turning into sand isn't natural. The guy's a freak," Eddie hissed in Venom's voice. "You'd be surprised how many we've got in New York."

The symbiote only gave a bubbling hiss that was the closest thing to laughter. Venom moved in closer, claws sinking into the walls as he made his way down. Their Spider seemed to be having some trouble with this new foe: currently he was trapped in a thick tendril of sand and struggling to get his way out as the other criminals began pulling themselves together and reaching for their guns. The Sandman (Venom wasn't feeling particularly creative today) had reformed his legs and waist, but his top half was gone, twisted into a huge mass of shifting orange sand that ballooned out into the air. A twist of the portion around Spider-man's stomach and the boy was slammed first into the wall and then into the sidewalk with bone-cracking force, cracks rippling out.

And that was before he suddenly disappeared into a ball of sand.

It occurred to Venom that perhaps this Man of Sand was actually higher on the food chain than their Spider, at least for the time being.

At the rate he was going, either he or his flunkies would actually injure – or kill – Spider-man.

That was simply unacceptable.

X

Some people had luck and all the perks that came with it. Harry Osbourne was one of those people. Peter Parker was not. He had two kinds of days: okay and crappy. Today was shaping up to be of the crappy variety.

As usual.

When he'd encountered the van fleeing the scene of the fire, he'd assumed it was going to be easy. Swing in as your friendly neighborhood Spider-man, knock out the driver, web up the criminals, book it back to Loews and actually finish a movie for once. The hardest part would be trying to explain the new bruises to Gwen and MJ. He certainly hadn't expected to run into a man made of sand. As he was flung back and forth like he weighed nothing, Spider-man vaguely tried to figure out the science behind this and found he couldn't explain it. It just wasn't scientifically possible. Maybe in comics, but hello, this was real life!

He hated to say it, but this Sand Dude was kicking his ass across New York.

No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to lose the guy. The guy was everywhere – his head and arms would melt into sand at will and whenever Spider-man tried to go for the legs, he'd find himself get punched backward like he'd been hit by a train. Out of the corner of his eyes, he thought he spotted the rest of the cronies pulling out some guns and making eyes in his direction. This could get ugly quick. He could do all a spider could, sure, but that didn't make him bullet-proof.

He bounced from another throw and rolled onto his hands and knees, gazing up as Sand Dude and trying to figure out how to tackle this new freak-show. What was it with these people and having all these weird superpowers? Says the guy who runs around in spider tights.

…Okay, shut up Peter, you're not helping right now.

"So what do you call yourself?" Spider-man got to his feet, brushing himself off and trying to pretend that he didn't have a raging headache from getting smacked around. "Beach Bunny Sandy? 'Cause, y'know, I think Twinkle Toes Joe works too."

"Cute," his opponent growled, solidifying just enough to spit back a reply. "Is this the extent of the famous Spider-man wit?"

"Hey, I try. Doesn't help when I've got a tough crowd like you and your buddies," Spider-man retorted, nettled. "Seriously, I've been calling you Sand Dude in my head this whole time; it's really distracting when I'm trying to fight you, I'll have you know."

The man in the green and black stripped shirt glowered. "It's Sandman to you, punk."

"Original."

"Like yours is any better," Sandman grunted and began shifting again, features starting to melt away.

A nice heavy dose of webbing hit him in the face and he reeled backward, for a second disoriented as he clawed it from his eyes with a curse.

Spider-man leapt at him. He caught a glimpse of the other criminals raising their weapons in his direction – they held them like they knew how to use them, he realized nervously – before he was suddenly engulfed in darkness. He struggled, but the darkness clung to him, shifting in response to his movements and constricting. His mask was helping a little, but it was hard to breathe and he swore there was sand getting into some downright awkward and wrong places now.

Jokes aside, he was in trouble. Deep trouble. He wasn't sure exactly, but it looked like Sandman had somehow encircled him completely. If he didn't escape, he could probably suffocate or worse, and both were going to be very real possibilities at this rate. He struggled harder, but the sand kept absorbing his kicks and punches. Some of it was trying to force its way into the mask.

After a few minutes, Spider-man's struggles started to slow down. Fighting suddenly seemed so tiring and his arms must've been injected with lead or something, because for some reason he couldn't seem to lift them. His eyes fluttered behind the mask as he sagged into the coffin of sand. It shifted but he only took vague notice, feeling himself sinking.

"You heard me!" Sandman's voice drifted up around him. He was talking to the others. "Get the equipment before the cops arrive!"

"What about Spider-man?"

"What about him? Get – what the fuck!"

A deep, guttural hiss. "The Spider is mine alone, Man of Sand!"

Spider-man heard a muffled crash and a few panicked shouts. Boom, rolling gunshots. Yelling and suddenly he was shoved out of the sand coffin, hitting a wall and falling heavily. Trying to collect his wits about him, he tried to raise his head, vision blurring. Something black and man-sized was darting around the criminals with brutal, inhuman speed: wherever the black shadow went, the men were suddenly down. Some of them were forming red puddles and not moving. Sandman was completely occupied with fighting off this creature.

He must have blacked out at one point. The next thing he knew, he was being lifted up by someone. He coughed, feeling something in his lungs – sand – and tried to push away, but the claws around his neck tightened in warning.

"Stop squirming," a voice growled. "We could snap your neck right now if we wanted."

Spider-man went still. Something fumbled with his mask, drawing it delicately so it rested just above his nose as something wet touched his cheek and dragged a slimy trail over it. Too-warm fingers were brushing against his jaw-line and lips. Unable to resist, Spider-man tensed, trying to gather his wits about it. It was surprisingly hard, what with this fog in his head and he found he couldn't seem to do more than feel – thinking was too hard and he was almost certain he was going to pass out pretty soon. The fact it really hurt to breathe probably had something to do with that.

"We sense you have sand in your lungs, Spider," the voice said.

Something wet was forcing his mouth open and he felt something downright weird entering inside him. It wiggled around and settled in his chest as he struggled to keep breathing. It abruptly pulled itself out, leaving a faint gritty taste of sand, and suddenly he could breathe without it hurting.

"Foolish boy. Always attacking predators stronger than yourself."

Spider-man felt himself getting slung non-too-gently over something hardly – a black, silky shoulder, from what he could see – and the street suddenly looking very far away. Whoever had helped him was carting him off to who knew where and he didn't have the strength to fight back or even look up to identify the man. He hung there weakly, eyes drifting closed with a will of their own as he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if there is anything I should change in future chapters, especially after chapter 9 is published, several people were disappointed with the original chapter 10 (Something Wicked). Also give me ideas for chapters. Let me know what you might like to see in future chapters.


	3. Elimination Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original story was by Famira Damaris. They had no intentions of continuing it, and granted me permission and ownership of the fanfic.
> 
> If you want to read the original please go here: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/2004088/1/Black-Sustenance (chapter 1 is the prologue)
> 
> Italics for thoughts/emphasis/symbiote
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SPIDER-MAN, OR ANY OTHER CHARACTERS IN THIS FANFIC.

He  _ had _ him. He had fucking  _ Spider-man _ at his mercy. Spider-man! The guy running around as if he was New York's unwanted savior, dressed up in that retarded costume, and here Flint Marko almost  _ had _ him. But then that freak – a mutant? – jumped in just as it was getting good and actually gave him a run for his money. It seriously pissed him off. So damn close. It would've been a hefty increase to his paycheck if he'd managed to capture Spider-man and find out just who the hell this joker was. But instead, he stuck babysitting these idiots and making sure they didn't damage any of that equipment they stole.

One of the most observant ones noticed his soured mood.

"What's up, Boss?"

Flint sneered. "I'm pissed off, god dammit! Y'know how much money Spider-man could be worth if that freak in black hadn't shown up?"

"But we're going to make a killing off those already, aren't we?" the flunky nodded toward the towers of boxes crowding their getaway truck.

"I'm talkin'  _ extra _ ," Flint crossed his arms over his burly chest, craggy brows drawn together in a scowl. "Just 'cause we're criminals don't mean we can't use the heads God gave us. I'll make it nice and simple: Spider-man's been runnin' around town for what, a few months? Everyone's dyin' to know who the hell this punk is and some are willin' to pay far more than what we're makin' from this job."

"So..?"

Sand swirled from Flint in an annoyed puff as he settled back against the interior wall of their truck. "Think about it. If I could capture Spider-man, we could collect on the reward for identifyin' him. Or! Or…we could always blackmail him – have him do us the odd job or favors in exchange for not blowin' his cover. The possibilities don't end; Spider-man's a walking goldmine."

_ That _ captured everyone's attention. The first flunky gave an impressed whistle, taken aback.

"That's just genius, man."

Flint smirked. "And that's why I'm head of this job and the rest of you boys follow me instead of the other way around. I do the thinkin' and fightin' and you don't have to worry about a thing."

They laughed and went back to business, leaving Flint to think over what he said. Now that he'd calmed down somewhat and the adrenaline from that last fight began to ebb away, he realized that this was indeed a _very_ good idea. One of his better ones, in fact. Working jobs like these you got to _know_ people and he knew quite a few who would be interested in getting Spider-man served up on a platter – _very_ interested. Capturing Spider-man couldn't be too hard, not if that was the worst fight he could put up. If it was, Flint couldn't help but feel little disappointed, like he'd been cheated somehow of some harder challenge. Well, he supposed he could blame _The_ _Daily_ _Bugle_ for constantly hyping up Spider-man.

Something about Spider-man seemed off, though. He looked pretty short – toned, sure, but the fact remained he was damn short, as if he wasn't quite done going through a growth spurt. Second, he struck Flint for some reason as young, far younger than he expected, and all that incessant bantering didn't strike him as something any self-respecting adult would say. That left a range of mid twenties to teens, Flint supposed, which narrowed it down a bit…but not by much. There were a lot of people in fitting that profile in New York.

Until Flint was finished with this job, he wouldn't have time to go hunting for Spiders.

Damn shame, but the job always came first.

X

They didn't know what possessed them to waltz off with the Spider. At the time, it seemed important that he come with them, but looking back on it, Eddie Brock wasn't sure just why he was lugging around this deadweight all over New York. Whatever injuries Parker suffered were bound to be harmless and what with Sandman chased away, the boy was hardly in any danger. Sudden irrational hatred welled up in Eddie for a second as he realized he'd saved  _ Parker _ of all people.

It would take all of two seconds to let go and watch as the insolent brat slid off his shoulder and plummeted to a gloriously gory death seventy stories below.

_ Now, now, Host Mine _ , purred the Other.  _ Let us not be hasty. _

He wasn't. Note how Parker wasn't a bloody splat on the sidewalk.

_ Keep it that way; you and I both need him. _

Yes, yes, he knew. Still, old habits died hard.

Venom set down on the rooftop of some apartment complex – it was crowded on all sides by trash and fence, and if anyone was trying to spy from another building, they wouldn't see much, if anything. Spider-man was still unconscious, arms and legs limp and dangling freely as Venom prowled the length of the rooftop, making sure they were alone and wouldn't be interrupted. Satisfied that they would have privacy, Venom returned to the darkest corner, dropping Spider-man onto an old mattress shoved into a corner. The boy quietly slid off his shoulder and slumped backward.

It didn't help matters that his legs happened to spread open as he hit the mattress.

Growling, Venom flung himself backward until he was crouching down on the back of his heels, trying to ignore the longing ache at the sight of those open thighs. That stupid little costume of Parker's really didn't hide much, did it? He cradled his head in one clawed hand, tongue lolling out with lust. Before this, he had been somewhat normal, the Eddie part of Venom thought. Before this, he hadn't even been interested in Parker, much less the idea of having a good fuck with another  _ man _ . The symbiote Other didn't care much about gender: where it came from, such things were unimportant. Irrelevant.

So then why the sudden interest in Parker?

Black ooze retreated, uncurling around Eddie's head and leaving him free to breathe the fresh air from the neck up. He leaned back, tilting his head backward as he closed his eyes and took a good deep breath. The question of Parker had been on his mind since they had decided to pursue him from a distance, but he hadn't questioned why until now.

The answer came grudgingly from the Other.

_ I must reproduce soon _ , the Symbiote uncurled in Eddie's mind, whispering into his ear.  _ I believe they call these feelings the signs of the "urge to mate" and "bear offspring", in your inferior human languages. Since I currently feel the urge to mate with our Spider, you feel the same attraction as I do. _

Eddie wasn't quite sure he liked the idea of another Venom running around, even if it  _ was _ just a baby. And the vibes he was getting off his Other told volumes: the Symbiote wasn't exactly too keen on the idea of reproducing either. Images of previous offspring flashed in Eddie's head. Much of it was ass ugly. This symbiote wasn't exactly the best parent and it showed. Every one of them had been instable or uncontrollable, which was part of the reason why the Symbiote had come to Earth in the first place: it had hoped that with so many inferior hosts on this planet, the urge to reproduce just wouldn't arise and it could exist in peace.

"Came to the wrong planet, didn't we?" Eddie growled to himself. "Didn't know there were so many mutants and altered hosts. So what now?"

_ We'll mate and reproduce when we're ready _ , said the Symbiote.  _ And then we kill the offspring in front of Parker, to show him that he is marked as our property. _

And here Eddie thought  _ he _ was harsh! He had to give the Other credit though for being that gutsy – or just that detached. Looking down on the prone body lying on the mattress before him, Eddie reached over with one claw and lifted up the webbed mask. Parker's eyes were closed, his breathing quiet and steady, lips parted slightly. Somehow Eddie knew not to do anything too drastic with the boy – the Other knew that trying to mate with him now in both the human and symbiote fashions would probably kill him – but that didn't mean he had to keep his hands to himself.

One claw traced the curve of Parker's cheek almost tenderly, cupping it as he leaned close, only inches away. The Symbiote was practically humming with pleasure by now, anticipation which seemed to vibrate through out the length of his whole body as he let his claws fall on the boy's neck, the other starting to reach down toward his tantalizingly spread thighs…

Parker at that moment choose to open his eyes.

They fluttered open slowly, still in a numbed daze, and fixed blankly on Eddie's face.

Without a change in expression, Eddie applied a little pressure and squeezed – it was so ridiculously  _ easy _ – his claws tightening around Parker's smooth neck. The boy didn't even struggle. Those deliciously hazel eyes simply fluttered closed again as Parker relaxed back into unconsciousness, face tilting to the side almost submissively.

That had been too close. They didn't want Parker to know they were suffering the indignity of helping him fight his own battles, much less stooping down to rescuing him.

Venom's fanged face reformed around Eddie. They undressed Parker as much as it took to make sure he was fine physically (it wouldn't due for their Spider to be damaged internally or externally), and then started to pull his mask back down. Venom paused. Well, he supposed he could indulge himself just a  _ little _ . Cradling the unconscious Parker in his arms, he tilted the boy's head back, parting his lips wider as Venom's own jaws dropped open. Leaning forward, his jaws in the same permanent, fixed leer, he brought Parker close as his slimy tongue worked its way past those slack lips and deeper into Parker's mouth in the Symbiote's own makeshift version of a kiss. It was rough, oozing and unforgiving as it penetrated deeper.

He could taste Parker all around him.

It was...intoxicating.

Sadly, he had to pull back before it went any further, otherwise he might lose control of himself.

Pulling down the mask once more over Parker's nose, Venom clutched him possessively to his chest as he stood up. There would be time for more exploration of Parker in the future, he reminded himself. They should be thinking about what to do with him now, seeing as returning him to the scene of the crime wasn't the brightest idea. The best thing was probably to drop him off in that little alley next to that movie theater – maybe plunk him down on a pile of trash just to make Eddie feel a little better – and then start looking into this Sandman.

Somehow it seemed to Venom that the encounter between their Spider and this Man of Sand wouldn't be the last.

Spider-man tended to attract trouble and this Sandman could be a problem in the future.

X

"He's been gone for like an hour or something," Gwen whispered to Mary Jane, turning away from the flickering screen. "I can't believe he ditched us."

Mary Jane chewed her lower lip. They were almost half way through the movie and Peter hadn't come back; he could be out being Spider-man, but he had been gone an awfully long time. At first she'd thought that him being Spider-man was the Coolest Thing  _ Ever _ , but seeing him in action and seeing who he could be pitted against made her so worried these days that it was pretty much impossible to even watch a movie unless she knew Peter was safe and sound sitting next to her.

"I'll go look for him," Mary Jane whispered back. "Maybe he got lost," she added, trying to wiggle her way past knees and chairs into the aisle.

Gwen snorted none too delicately. "Whatever. If you see him, tell him he's a big fat jerk."

Mary Jane didn't start running until she left the auditorium. Once she was out, she ran up and down the length of the entire Loews complex, and finally came to a stop right near the glass doors to the street, out of breath. Peter definitely wasn't here. Still determined to keep looking, Mary Jane jogged past the usher at the door and started around the block, her heart thundering like hoof beats in her chest. She was contemplating searching down a particularly dark and narrow alley when she heard a familiar moan.

Deciding to err on the cautious side, she entered slowly and carefully, one hand on a broken pipe she found on the dirty ground. She had rounded a set of dumpsters and almost jumped in fright at the sight of Spider-man struggling to push himself into a sitting position.

" _ Peter _ !" she gasped, dropping the pipe with a clang.

In an instant she was at his side, a million questions on the tip of her tongue. Spider-man was slowly sitting up and coughing through the mask. The best he could do was weakly bat away her hands when she went to help him. Mary Jane ignored him and gently lifted up the mask to the bridge of his nose. A trickle of blood was working its way down from the corner of his mouth, but he seemed to be fine, if a little beat up.

"What happened?" Mary Jane asked. She helped him hunch over as he continued to cough.

Peter's voice was rough, as if he had a sore throat. "Had a…bit of a run in. Y'know how it is…I'm…I'm okay," he managed to get out before he dissolved into another fit of coughing.

"You're a mess, P – Spider-man," Mary Jane said. She managed to get him on his feet, one arm slung over her shoulder for support. "You don't look okay to me."

" _ You _ try fighting Sand Dude the next time."

Okay, so maybe Peter wasn't  _ that _ bad off if he was still making stupid jokes.

Mary Jane wanted to cry but instead she managed a shaky smile. "Sand Dude?" she raised an eyebrow. From what she could see of Peter's face, he offered a tired grin, wiping away the blood trickle with the back of his gloved hand.

"Guy turns into sand, so I kept calling him Sand Dude. Best name ever."

"He can't seriously be called that."

"It's close enough, but man – ow! – man, he did put up a fight," Peter winced as he stood up and began trying to inspect his back. "I think they got away this time," and now the grin was gone, disgust at himself replacing it.

"You can't catch everyone, Tiger," said Mary Jane. She looked down, trying to say what she felt, "I-I think it's enough that you even try, you know? Most people would've turned back by now."

"Yeah, well...I guess I'm that stubborn. It's in the genes and all," Peter grunted. He motioned that they go deeper into the alley so they could have a bit more privacy. "I don't really think I'm in any shape to go finishing the movie with you guys, MJ. Sorry, but I really need some rest."

Mary Jane frowned. "I won't just leave you here."

"I can make it back. Just tell Gwen I'm sorry for being a big fat jerk."

Mary Jane watched as he disentangled himself from her and stood up, this time without staggering. Doubt played across her face. "Are you sure…?"

"Yeah. Look, I'll just catch a train and head home. I'll be fine…that's if I find my clothes, 'cause you know running around naked gets me arrested and all," Peter said, glancing around. He brightened when he spotted a bundle a bit farther back. "There they are."

Mary Jane went and came back with his clothes. He began peeling off the Spider-man costume and suddenly stopped, face reddening.

"Um…would you mind turning around for a second?"

"Oh!" Mary Jane jumped, coming to her senses, and blushed. She whirled around quickly, keeping her eyes pointedly straight ahead of her. Behind her came the sounds of rustling.

"Ugh, God. I smell like I took a swan dive into a dumpster," Peter muttered after taking an experimental sniff. He sounded hurt. "How come you didn't say anything?"

"I wasn't really paying attention."

"I claim dibs on the shower," Peter's voice was muffled as he shrugged into the shirt. "An awesomely long one."

"Your aunt doesn't mind?"

"Nah, she's okay so long as I don't do it every day," Peter said. "Okay, you can turn around now."

Mary Jane turned around hesitantly. Peter was sporting a spectacular bruise the size of a baseball on his cheek, and, for some reason, there were ugly red marks around his neck…but other than that he looked like the same Pete she was used to. "So? Passable?" he asked, modeling a fake pose.

"You look like Flash beat you up," Mary Jane said. "Again."

Peter smiled ruefully. "Wouldn't be the first time. I guess it's a good thing I've got this whole loser rep going around."

"Promise to be careful on the way home?"

This earned Mary Jane a typical Parker grin reserved only for trusted friends – lop-sided with just a hint of cockiness. "Always am. See you tomorrow."

Mary Jane watched as he leapt up, easily cleared her head by several feet, and began ascending the vertical wall until he disappeared over the edge and was simply  _ gone _ . It always amazed her whenever he did stuff like that, especially when he seemed to give it no thought at all, as if climbing up walls was as commonplace as walking or breathing. It was still hard to even imagine Peter of all people as Spider-man – the images of Spider-man on TV kicking and punching his way through the likes of that man with those mechanical arms was just  _ unreal _ , as if it was someone else and not her best friend behind the mask. She knew Peter's secret, but sometimes it was still hard actually accept it when it was right in front of her eyes.

Mary Jane turned around and headed back to Loews, taking it slow. She'd need time to figure out a good story to tell Gwen and she really wasn't looking forward to having to lie yet again.

X

Flint Marko took his time counting the payment for the robbery of that laboratory – they were paid in cash, 100 bills in neatly stacked bundles that filled several large crates to the top. He knew he was little more than an over-glorified thug right now, but that didn't mean he was going to trust his employer just because he happened to be one of the most influential men in New York. Sitting with his legs on the table and slouching a little, Flint methodically checked each bundle for counterfeits until he was satisfied they hadn't been cheated in any way. The other man sitting across from him was somehow squeezed into a chair that constantly groaned under his weight, looking ready to burst yet miraculously holding together.

This was the Kingpin.

A single man who had so much influence in this city that he continued to walk free, even when he had direct evidence of murder against him. On security tapes, no less!

Flint didn't trust him, but you had to at least respect a man with that much power. Give credit where credit was due and all that.

"I trust you find everything satisfactory," said William Fisk. He laced his meaty fingers together when Flint nodded. "I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised with your performance today."

"Thanks, Mr. Fisk," Flint grunted. He tossed the last bundle of money into the crates, snapping his fingers. Two of his men came forward, closed the lids down on the crates and lifted them out of the way. "I'm sure you know we got an unwanted guest at the last minute, though."

"Spider-man?" Fisk's voice was pleasant, cultured, but his face melted into a menacing frown.

"Yeah: I took care of him."

The Kingpin actually looked surprised, eyebrows shooting up. "Is that so?"

"I didn't get a chance t'finish him off, if that's what you're thinkin'," Flint shrugged. "Our little party got interrupted by this monster, might've been a mutant or somethin'," and Flint rattled off a curt description of the black man-shaped creature that had attacked them. "I lost some of my men out there 'cause of it."

"Unfortunate, that." Fisk leaned forward. The chair groaned under his immense bulk. Interest positively radiated out from him.

Flint knew how to play up interest like no other – one of the things one picked up when everyone thought they were smarter than you and the only way to ensure you got what you wanted was to capture and hold their attention. He hemmed and hawed, stalling as he idly picked at a loose thread sticking up from his jeans. "Unfortunate for them, good for those of us still alive. Less to have t'split, y'know?"

"Indeed."

"'Sides, they knew the risks. It might be much t'ask, but could you send their families a little somethin' for their help?"

"But of course."

"No point in mournin' over them, but I've got this reputation of takin' care of my men, y'know?

"A very understandable sentiment, Mr. Marko."

By now Fisk was leaning forward to the point where his arms were on the table between them. There was to be no more dancing about the subject of that black mutant now and Flint finally relented with a flourish of one arm, as if he was sleepy and stretching. "Anyway, where were we? Oh yeah," he gave a crooked grin. "That thing that attacked us today.  _ Crazy _ shit, never saw anythin' move like it before. Pardon my French, but even I had some trouble fightin' the fucker off."

The corners of Fisk's mouth twitched but he said nothing.

"Just thought I'd give you the heads up," Flint said, and made as if he was ready to leave and go on his merry way.

"…Just a minute, Mr. Marko."

_ Right on cue. _

Flint made a show of sitting down reluctantly. "I thought our business was done…unless you'd like to continue t'use our services?"

"I might have some other engagements for you and your…friends," Fisk said. He motioned to one of the attendants standing in the light coming in through the skyscraper's windows. She poured the two men each a glass of some obscenely expensive wine Flint didn't even know the name of. "I must admit you sparked my curiosity as to this black beast of yours. It sounds rather intriguing. I would like to hear more about it and your encounter with Spider-man; over dinner, perhaps?"

A slow smile crept over Flint's craggy face.

"Sure, why not?" he finally took his legs off the table. "I'm dyin' for a good steak."

Fisk shared the smile. It made his eyes crinkle up and reminded Flint of a pig…a pig who could probably snap him in half with his bare hands if he didn't have that whole sand thing going on. "Incidentally, I happen to know of a very good place with some of the finest steaks in New York state."

"Sounds like my kinda place."

"I believe only a man of your caliber would appreciate it," Fisk said. He sipped the wine glass. "I look forward to tonight."

Flint smirked. "Thank you, Mr. Fisk."

X

(Later the same night)

"He's still asleep, girls."

Aunt May's voice.

Gwen huffed, a muffled sound just beyond his closed door. "When he wakes up, we seriously need to talk."

"Let's eat dinner," said Mary Jane. "Come on, he didn't do this on purpose – he really wanted to watch that movie together, remember?"

"…Yeah," Gwen muttered, her voice fading as they trooped downstairs, words becoming inaudible. "…Still…hate…say it…flakes out all the time…"

And then nothing, only silence once more.

Peter tossed in his bed, drifting back to sleep once more. Even through the fading haze of awareness, he could feel his whole body aching. His bruised cheek and throat hurt the most, followed by the pain in his lower back. Eyes still closed, the sixteen year-old settled deeper into the thick comforters with a quiet sigh, his body working furiously to heal the damage from that last fight as his mind went elsewhere.

_ Today he felt good. More than good even – he'd just freed himself of that symbiote thing and spent the better half of the next day web slinging around Queens for no good reason other than he felt like it. It was extremely relaxing; one of the rare times where Peter could look back and realize that despite all the crap he went through on a daily basis, he still had a great deal of that special brand of Parker Luck on his side. He still had Aunt May, Mary Jane and now Gwen in his life. He was alive and one hundred percent alien-free. Today was a damn good day and Peter felt so happy he found himself almost tempted to start hugging random people on the street. _

_ Peter approached the Queensboro Bridge around late afternoon. He felt great as he sailed through the metal struts with the ease of a practiced acrobat, his body sliding and tumbling in mid-air, unconcerned that he might miscalculate and bash his head into the bridge. _

_ He was extending his hand to shoot another line of webbing when suddenly something latched onto his wrist with bone-crushing force. _

_ Startled, breath catching, Peter looked up but couldn't see anything… just a shapeless, twisting mass of black which has sprouted a set of claws currently wrapped around his arm. Suddenly aware that his great day just took a massive 180, Peter flipped his leg up, intending to deliver a resounding kick and knock off Whatever It Was right off of him. Another set of claws sprouted and easily caught the kick, leaving Peter in an exceedingly awkward position. _

_ A set of fangs and dead eyes began emerging from the black ooze-mass holding him dangling upside down over the racing traffic lanes below. _

"You thought you escaped, did you?"

_ The claws tightened around his ankle and wrist. The shapeless mass above him gave a sickening laugh. Countless cars and buses whizzed underneath the two with a thundering of tires and horns. Something wet – a tongue? – abruptly flicked out and licked him, running up the entire length of his face with relish. _

_ "You'll see us everywhere, Peter _ Parker."

_ And then Peter found himself dropping, only this time he was in his street clothes, his web shooters gone and nothing in reach to latch onto, with a rather ominous looking semi heading in his direction _ –

Peter bolted upright with a strangled gasp, his heart thundering in his chest and his ears ringing. He stared forward without seeing at first, and only gradually did he realize just where he was exactly - currently sitting upside down on the ceiling, with no idea how he got there. Reflex, probably. Shaken, he remained where he was on the ceiling, his arms hugging himself. What was that all about? He only remembered bits and pieces of the dream, but it gave him a serious case of the creeps.

_ Man…I need a break… _

The nightmares seemed to be part and parcel of the whole Spidey package, although the last time he had one this bad, it'd been right after the confrontation with Harry's dad…when MJ almost died after taking a forced dive off the Queensboro Bridge. He had nightmares for  _ months _ afterward, and he couldn't imagine how much worst it must've been for his best friend. Deciding that what he needed most was some fresh air, Peter crept along the ceiling and peeked out through the crack in the door. The lights were out in the house, so everyone was probably asleep.

Careful to be as stealthy as he could, Peter made his way to the window and slid it open just enough to slip out. He made it to the shingled roof easily and took a seat next to the chimney, drawing his bare legs up to his chest and resting his chin on his knees, feeling the night breeze tousling his hair. Cars honked in the distance, the sky a deep orange-violet from the sheer amount of street lights. Hardly quiet, but it was all comfortable white noise for someone who grew up with it. Perfect. He really needed some me-time to think.

_ What did I get myself into? _ Peter tilted his head so that his cheek rested on one knee, arms hooked around his legs. He had all these crazy, freaky powers but in the end he was only a kid running around in tights. It was easier to ignore the fact when he was actually doing his job as Spider-man, but tonight – as simply Peter Parker – he was all too aware that he was ill-prepared for all this. At least the X-Men and the Ultimates had each other and were actually  _ adults _ . He was just a kid who'd barely turned sixteen the other month. He certainly didn't feel sixteen.

Sometimes it felt like he bit off more than he could chew. Every day, all day, fearing for his family and friends, paranoid that somehow someone would put two and two together and figure out his little secret. Sometimes he seriously considered quitting.

But then he'd save someone from, say, a mugging…the gratitude always, always without fail overwhelmed him, even if it was rare and far between to have someone actually stick around to thank him these days.

Spider-man was a part of him forever, no matter how much he doubted himself.

_ Uncle Ben would probably just say doubting doesn't get you anywhere but backwards _ . Peter had to smile a little at this, feeling the old knot in his stomach forming at the thought of Ben. His uncle had a blunt way with words, yet somehow always encouraged Peter to always improve himself and keep trying despite the stacked odds.  _ Use that stubborn streak of yours, _ Uncle Ben said once.  _ You can wallow in guilt, Peter, or you can keep on climbing to the top _ . Then again, that had been a pep-talk after Peter came back after a thorough humiliation at Flash's hands.  _ Well, not much has changed, I guess _ , Peter thought wryly.  _ I still get my share of Atomic Wedgies. _

Although…Peter had to admit the fare he went up against these days were about a million plus one times worse than Flash. A beat down from someone like Doc Ock was a hella lot higher on the Pain O' Meter than anything Flash or Kong could ever cook up.

So what if he had nightmares? He had to buck up and ignore them: he couldn't hide under his blankets just because he kept waking up in a cold sweat. Feeling a bit better already, Peter got to his feet, feeling the roughness of the wooden shingles underneath his toes. Rather than feeling sorry for himself, he really should be trying to learn more about this Sandman, as well as trying to figure out just who saved his butt earlier in the day.

Unaware of the fact he was being watched, Peter swung himself back into his bedroom and drew the curtains…

A block away from the Parker residence, Eddie Brock turned and headed north. Rain threatened to spill from the looming clouds overhead, and the black turtleneck he wore shifted into a black, knee length rain coat. The Symbiote was wide awake – it always was at the latest hours – and now it was ready to hunt for a different kind of prey than their Spider.

_ He seems to be healing nicely _ , the Other remarked.

"Yeah," Eddie grunted. "Parker got a lucky break today."

_ We can't let him encounter that Man of Sand again _ .

"No, we can't."

The Symbiote might have had millennia of experience under its belt, but it didn't have much of a clue how to go looking after this Sandman here on Earth. If anything, the technology on Earth was just too downright mind-bogglingly  _ inferior _ for it comprehend, and it expected their host to get the job done if it couldn't do it itself. It would prefer to just rip apart the city and flush the irritating human out, but that would draw too much attention. Besides, Eddie Brock was a former reporter, one of the best of his class. If there was one thing he knew for certain he could do well, it was a little bit of actual investigation.

For once the Symbiote was ready to rely on its host instead of the other way around.

First they had to have a plan. Eddie needed access to all kinds of criminal records, among other things, and for once breaking and entering wouldn't cut it. He'd need this access for an extended amount of time – without having to dodge cops and deal with heightened security – which would require the legal approach. Unfortunately the archives at the Daily Bugle weren't an option (no thanks to Parker), and he tried to think of how he could get himself hired quickly. He knew all kinds of dirty little juicy secrets about the Bugle and its staff. Such would be a big selling point if he moseyed himself over to one of the Bugle's rivals….

Eddie knew  _ just _ the place.

The Daily Globe was one of the Bugle's biggest competitors, and had a decidedly unsavory reputation for luring in employees from other papers through less than legal ways. Actually, they had been making longing eyes in his direction for a while, before Parker even came into the picture, but at the time Eddie remained (stupidly) loyal to the Bugle and Jameson. He assumed wrongly that his experience and loyalty would actually mean something,  _ not _ get thrown back into his face as if all those dedicated years meant nothing.

As he decided against simply web-slinging his way back to Manhattan – had to start getting used to "normal" – and instead hailed down a taxi, Eddie felt a private smile surfacing. He had a feeling the Daily Globe would be more than happy to hire him. Hell, they had been gunning for him to join them for several  _ months _ .

There was that. And he hated to admit it, but a part of him really missed the days of having real work. It couldn't hurt that he'd actually enjoy himself working as a journalist again, as a side bonus. After all, the whole reason he'd wanted to become a journalist in the first place was this whole desire to protect innocents, and he figured the Daily Bugle was more respectable on that note than the Globe. Working again as a journalist though could have a problem: there was a definite chance he'd run into Parker in between assignments and searching the archives for this Sandman. They were pretty sure that Parker didn't know what happened to them after their last encounter. It was possible he thought Venom buggered out of town or maybe died in a corner somewhere, but there was really no way of knowing for certain.

_ If we encounter him in this little disguise, he won't do anything _ , the Symbiote would have shrugged if it could.

Good point. Their Spider would definitely recognize them, but in such settings he wouldn't dare think of picking a fight with Eddie, not when there were so many people who could get hurt. Eddie wasn't sure how he planned to react when they finally met face to face again. Sneering contempt? Disdain? Righteous anger? Or maybe just play it cool as if he didn't recognize the boy? Well, he still had time. No sense in getting ahead of himself. Eddie slid into the waiting cab.

The taxi cabbie leaned over and glanced at him through the grate separating them, a withering cigarette dangling in his grizzled mouth. Smoke wafted about the confines of the taxi cab, and Eddie could feel the symbiote giving the slightest of repulsed shudders.

"Late night, eh?"

"You could say that," Eddie replied. He offered a tired grin. "Same goes for you."

The cabbie snorted. "Hey, it pays the bills. Tired as hell, but you gotta do what you gotta do."

"You said it."

"So, where to?"

Eddie rattled off an address. The cabbie raised an eyebrow, startled. "That's pretty far, man. You know that's gonna rack up, right?"

"I know," Eddie settled back against the seat. Mumbling to himself, the cabbie turned around and started up the taxi, working his way onto the main streets and easing his way across the Queensboro Bridge.

Eddie gazed out the window. Moonlight glistened off the water underneath them. From here it looked serene and gentle, despite the fact it was probably polluted to hell and back with who knew what; he found himself fixating on the way the silver slivers of light played across the ways hundreds of feet below. He usually didn't travel much without reason, but maybe he could afford to web-sling under the bridge and take a breather. At the very least, keeping physically busy would help with that longing, possessive ache he always got thinking of Parker…

At least he had tomorrow to look forward to. His introduction to the Daily Globe was bound to be entertaining once Jameson found out about his defection.

X

Gwen was giving him evil eyes; Peter just  _ knew _ it. He had gotten really good at sensing that kind of thing lately and he didn't need his spider-sense to know  _ someone _ was pissed off at him, to put it mildly. When the teacher turned her back on the class to write on the board, Mary Jane quickly tossed him a note, folded up in the shape of some kind of maladjusted fish (her attempt at origami). When Peter managed to unfold it, he quickly scanned through the shorthand, scribbled for easiness to read than any worry for spelling. The note said:

_ Sad U Had Accident. Gwen thinks U ditched on purpose. Gwen PO'd: UBig Fat Jerk 2 her. Watch ur bak k? _

By the time the teacher turned around, the note disappeared into his book. Great. Gwen was still pissed off at him. Peter was going to have to be careful and make sure he had a better story ready. That or at least apologize up a storm. Sometimes he wished he could just tell Gwen why he kept flaking off all the time, but he knew such a thing wasn't possible. What would he say?  _ Gee, Gwen, sorry I couldn't finish the movie: I was too busy swinging around in my Spider-jammies and oh yeah, I didn't kill your dad for the last time? _ Peter snorted mentally. Yeah. Right. That would go over really well, wouldn't it?

The moment they got out of class, Peter found himself getting pulled aside by Gwen. The blonde girl tugged him toward the lockers, with Mary Jane shooting him a sympathetic look. _Good_ _luck_, she mouthed, before heading toward the cafeteria. From the frown on Gwen's face, Peter decided he was going to need whatever luck he could get.

"Peter, what the goddamn hell happened yesterday?" Gwen demanded hotly, her hands on her hips, bangles jingling with the movement.

Peter couldn't meet her eyes. "Look, I know what you're thinking. I didn't ditch you guys, okay?"

"Could've fooled me," Gwen retorted.

"Why would I want to ditch you?" Peter asked. "I really did want to see that movie together."

"Right…"

Peter could tell this wasn't working. Better get to that explanation quick. "MJ was right – I did have a bit of an accident. I tripped and…um…hurt myself," Peter lied, trying to think. "I didn't feel too well after it, so I had to go home."

"How did you trip on your  _ face _ ? It looked like someone slugged you."

Peter stuttered, face reddening. He couldn't think of anything to say, not with Gwen fixing that evil eye on him at point blank range and waiting impatiently for a better explanation. It didn't look good. And then a pair of life-savers finally arrived – Flash and Kong happened to round the corner and stopped short at the sight of Peter practically pinned against the locker by Gwen. For once in his life, Peter was actually glad to see the two. Flash's face instantly broke out into one of those little smug grins:

"Lover's fight?" he grinned, sauntering up. "Not surprised Parker's the pussy in the relationship. You're such a damn  _ girl _ ."

Gwen flared up, looking ready to spit fire. "You got a problem with girls, retard?"

"Not all of them," Flash said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I don't know what you see in this lame ass loser, Gwen."

"This 'lame ass loser' happens to be my  _ friend _ ," Gwen glared. "So shut the hell up!"

"Oh thanks," Peter muttered. "I think."

Flash ignored him, eyes still on Gwen. "Or what? You'll threaten to gut me like a pig like you threatened Kong?"

"That wasn't cool," Kong added. "Seriously."

"Just leave us alone," Gwen actually  _ snarled _ . "Or you'll see how it feels to be on the bullying end."

"Oooh, scary!" Flash didn't even pretend to be scared. "Better watch it, Gwen. Don't want you getting expelled, do we?"

Flash turned to Peter, who was busy making himself look as utterly defenseless, terrified, and ultimately appealing a nerd target as possible. If there was a time he needed Flash to be…well,  _ Flash _ , it was right now. The jock didn't disappoint. He smirked, noticing the still healing bruise on Peter's cheek and made a punching motion in his hand. In the school's weird, unofficial Bully Code (there actually was one; most of the big and small bullies tended to be pretty constant with it, amazingly enough), that meant Peter better watch out for some Stealth Purple Nurples...but since Gwen was new to the school, she mistook it for something else entirely. The blonde girl looked ready to explode, almost shaking in fury.

Kong, noticing the warning signs, elbowed Flash in the side.

"Whatever, man," Kong said, practically pushing Flash toward the cafeteria and out of the line of fire. "Have fun with your girl problems, Parker."

Gwen rounded on Peter, her cheeks still flushed. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

"What?"

"Why did you make up that retarded story about you tripping?" Gwen glared, but her evil eye had lost most of its steam, softening considerably. She gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. "If Flash tries to beat you up again, I'd be more than happy to sock him in the face for you."

It struck Peter as extremely ironic that  _ he _ of all people was getting offered Bully Protection.

"I don't think you need to do that –" he started.

"– more like  _ want _ to – "

"-I'll be okay," Peter finished. "Look, I didn't want to cause trouble and get everyone worried." Okay, that part was true, so he didn't feel too guilty about this half-lie. At least he managed to keep a straight face. "Let's just drop this, okay?"

"I meant what I said," Gwen said. Her expression softened; the irritation earlier had pretty much deflated and fizzled away. "I swear, those idiots stalk you or something. I don't want to eat in the same room with those two," she said suddenly and steered him away to the outside benches and tables. Peter was absolutely starving, but he followed anyway, sitting down across from Gwen as she composed herself.

"I…I know I don't exactly fit in here," Gwen started. She looked down and Peter knew she was recalling that time he'd found her crying in a dumpster. "Having you and MJ as friends really means a lot to me….and I-I got really mad when I thought you blew us off. Maybe I take things too seriously sometimes…"

"Friends are important," Peter said. He awkwardly reached out and gave Gwen's folded hands on the table a comforting pat, not knowing what else to do. "I'm so sorry about yesterday, Gwen. I really wish I could make it up to you."

Gwen offered him a tired smile. "You could stop getting beat up. Try standing up against Flash for a change."

_ If I stood up to him, I'd probably break a few of his bones – and not even on purpose! _ "Um…violence really isn't my thing," Peter said quickly.

"I know this is going to sound a bit weird," Gwen said quietly. "But I think of you, your aunt and MJ like you're my family. Ever since Dad was murdered," anger and sadness warred for dominance in her voice, "ever since Dad was murdered, you guys have been like-like an anchor, y'know? So it's really important what you guys think and stuff."

Peter nodded, feeling like he should be kicking himself. Gwen still thought Spider-man killed Captain Stacy, even though the confrontation between the two versions of Spider-man was all over the news later. Peter felt it was his fault for not getting their in time to be of much help, except for capturing the Fake Spider-man. Still, the important thing was that Gwen was safe and felt like she fit in their little group. Time to try cheering her up:

"We'll always be there for you, no matter what," Peter offered a smile. "Come on, let's get something eat, okay?"

Gwen got up. "Thanks for listening, Peter."

The next couple of days were pretty uneventful for Peter after that.

A week passed.

The bruises from that fight with Sandman faded, Gwen wasn't pissed off at him, it rained for three days straight so far, and Flash and Kong decided they had better things to do then attempt those promised Purple Nurples any time soon. He kept running late for work at the Daily Bugle, but Jameson seemed more concerned with finding out about this alleged Sandman mutant than ripping Peter a new one. It was as a soggy, miserably gray Thursday. Web-slinging his way toward Times Square proved to be surprisingly crime-free.

Wet, but crime free.

Peter landed on the roof of the Bugle's tower, shrugging out of his backpack and ducking into the roof access door just long enough to realize he couldn't throw his normal clothing over a sopping wet costume.  _ Okay, Me, remind Myself to waterproof this thing _ . He'd have to spend a couple of minutes trying to pass the costume under the bathroom hand dryers before sitting down to work on the Bugle's web page today. Grumbling to himself, Peter trooped down the stairs and darted into the nearest bathroom he could find. By the time he surfaced – this time in a respectable pair of jeans and a light brown shirt – and made his way to Jonah Jameson's office, he knew he was probably in trouble.

"You're almost half an hour late, Peter," Robbie said in disapproval, intercepting him. He glanced toward the main office: Jameson was in the middle of some kind of heated conversation on the phone, chewing on his cigar and looking ready to bite it in half. "I'd tell you to stay clear of Jonah, but I need you to give these," Robbie held up a sheaf of papers, "to him."

Peter gingerly took the pile. Robbie was nowhere near as explosive as J.J could be, but that didn't mean he was a pushover. He wasn't too happy about Peter constantly coming in late and this was his own way of putting him somewhere where he could get a good verbal butt-kicking (courtesy of Jameson) without actually reprimanding him in person. It wasn't the most confrontational approach, but it worked. Well, Peter supposed he earned it after all: he hadn't been exactly displaying the best work ethics for the past week and he couldn't even blame it – much – on his activities as Spider-man.

He knocked gingerly on the door. Jameson looked up, fixed the sixteen year-old with the usual fierce glare and then motioned him in impatiently.  _ Sit _ , he motioned, stabbing a finger at one of the unoccupied chairs and abruptly turned away, still on the phone. Cigar smoke wafted into the air in wisps as Peter sat down, holding the papers in his lap and trying to steel himself for the inevitable confrontation. He only listened to Jameson's conversation with half an ear.

The papers in his lap were starting to look extremely interesting when Jameson suddenly exploded on the phone. Peter almost fell off his seat in surprise.

"_That's_ _utter_ _bullshit_!" Jameson bellowed into the phone. "You said he left town, and _now_ you're telling me they got him at the Daily-Fucking-_Globe_!"

A brief moment of silence as the voice on the other end replied. Forgetting entirely about the papers in his lap, Peter looked up. Jameson chewed on the cigar with renewed vigor, clenching it between his teeth, standing to the side, his restless pacing forgotten.

"He's pissed off, that's what," said Jameson. "I bet he thinks he'll get revenge by doing this. He used to be a lot more professional about that kind of bullshit."

More silence.

"Of course I know how the Globe works. Their bastards keep trying to steal my goddamn employees all the goddamn time. Every month it's the same thing…yes … yes, I know."

_ Who's he talking about _ ? Peter wondered. Whoever it was, it pissed off Jameson badly. Peter had a feeling he'd be taking a lot more flak than expected once his boss finished the phone call.

"No…no, I don't think so. They probably got to him months ago…who knows, he could've been planning this even before that whole scandal with –  _ what _ ?"

The person on the other end paused and then repeated whatever they just said. Jameson let out a barking, sarcastic laugh.

"If I find him in my office, I'll get security on his ass so fast he won't even know how he got out of the damn building," Jameson growled around the smoldering cigar. "There's got to be a way to find out what he's up to..."

A question from the other end of the line.

"I trust Brock about as far as I can throw him."

Peter froze.

The sheaf of papers slid out of his hands and slithered out onto the carpet, forgotten. <strike></strike>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if there is anything I should change in future chapters, especially after chapter 9 is published, several people were disappointed with the original chapter 10 (Something Wicked). Also give me ideas for chapters. Let me know what you might like to see in future chapters.


	4. Hunters and Feeding Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not a lot going on in this chapter, but there is some masturbation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original story was by Famira Damaris. They had no intentions of continuing it, and granted me permission and ownership of the fanfic.
> 
> If you want to read the original please go here: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/2004088/1/Black-Sustenance (chapter 1 is the prologue)
> 
> Italics for thoughts/emphasis/symbiote
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SPIDER-MAN, OR ANY OTHER CHARACTERS IN THIS FANFIC.

"I trust Brock about as far as I can throw him."

Peter Parker sat frozen to the spot.

Eddie Brock.

Venom.

_ Oh…Oh _ shit

Not the most coherent thing to think, but that was all he could manage, staring forward without quite seeing, feeling the blood drain from his cheeks as what Jonah Jameson just said sunk in its entirety. Icy cold fear closed in around the teenager. His spider-sense was useless against Brock; Brock could be anywhere, absolutely  _ anywhere _ and Peter wouldn't know until it was probably too late. Brock could even be in the building  _ right now _ and there was no way to know until he came in kicking the doors down and gunning for blood. Peter had to force himself to remain in his chair and not bolt out of the door right there and then.

Jameson was still on the phone during this, stopped facing out toward one of the expansive glass windows, a hand on his hip and completely oblivious to the danger.

"We're going to need damage control on this," he was saying. "Check our records, make sure everything's clean like it should be in the first place…yes, I  _ know _ the Globe's going to have a field day with this. Look – no,  _ no _ – just get on it.  _ Now _ !"

Jameson hung up and slammed the phone into its cradle with a resounding  _ crack _ ; it was only by sheer luck that the thing didn't break into pieces. He stood for a long minute glaring daggers at it, chewing vigorously on the end of the lit cigar and puffing clouds of smoke as he tried to collect himself. "Can't believe he went and actually did it," the head of the Daily Bugle muttered. "Fucking asshole."

He suddenly remembered Peter. "Well?" he snapped, rounding on the sixteen year-old. "Don't stand there with your mouth open. Don't tell me those are Robbie's reports you're stepping on."

The publisher stomped over, took a closer look at the brunette and huffed. "You sick or something, Parker?" Jameson grunted. The fierce expression softened the slightest bit, only to harden once more. "Get out of my office before you start throwing up all over my floor. Go home."

The boy, looking like all the blood had drained from his face, didn't move.

"Go on,  _ get _ !"

Peter scuttled out. As the door banged open, Jameson bent down with a tired grumble of annoyance, balancing himself with one hand on a knee, and slowly picked up the sheaf of papers scattered around the chair. When he finally came up with the mess in the barest semblance of order, he found Robbie leaning against the doorframe of his office, arms folded across his chest.

"What was that about, Jonah?" Robbie asked, raising an eyebrow. "That was either the fastest chew-out I've ever seen you give Peter…or something's on your mind."

Jameson began to reshuffle the papers, putting them back into order. "I know you heard me."

The other man sighed. "You were getting pretty loud this time," he admitted, "but I didn't get the whole story."

"It's Brock," Jameson growled. He didn't even glance at the papers he'd picked up, instead tossing them onto his desk and slouching down behind it, his chair squeaking as he settled down. Robbie quietly closed the door behind him and took a seat on the edge of the desk. "He went and got himself hired by the Globe. The fucking  _ Globe _ ."

"Ouch."

"Ouch doesn't even begin to cover it."

Robbie sighed. "So what now?"

"So far nothing from the Globe – I had Betty run out and get me a copy soon as I heard the rumor, but I didn't see anything about us. Yet," Jameson scowled. "I thought Brock would've acted faster on this; he could've easily gotten in something before the news ever reached me…I just don't get it. Or him."

"What about Peter?" Robbie asked.

"What about him?"

"Well," Robbie started delicately, "there is a chance Brock might have a grudge against him too, since he  _ did _ have a part in getting him let go."

"Fired," Jameson corrected him. "He got  _ fired _ . 'Let go' is just dancing around the fact he got fired. End of story."

"Alright, fired. Either way, the fact is, we don't know what he's thinking right now," Robbie said. "He was pretty upset that time, remember? Especially at Peter."

The editor of the Daily Bugle sat up a little straighter. "You think he'd come after Parker?"

"I'm just saying we don't know for certain  _ what _ he wants. For all we know, he could threaten to spill everything unless we let Peter go," Robbie frowned. "Brock had a lot going wrong for him when he was fired. He…might not be in the most stable of mindsets. The thing is we  _ don't _ know what he's planning. I think we should take that into account."

Jameson went silent, mulling this over, his chin jutted out stubbornly.

"What do you think we should do, Robbie?"

"Play it safe. Keep an eye on Peter; I know you planned to have him start getting sent out on assignments with Ulrich, but I think it'd probably be best if none of those were near anything the Globe would cover at the same time."

Jameson scowled at this. He glared out the window. "I can't believe we actually have to worry about this bullshit," he said angrily. "Maybe it'd be easier to just let Parker go for now…"

"You want to fire  _ Peter _ ?" Robbie stiffened in surprise.

"Firing's permanent. Parker does a good job…sometimes," said Jameson gruffly. "I'd rather he come back and work with us again, but you didn't hear it from me. In fact, I better not hear  _ any _ of this leaking out to the kid, am I clear? I'm not going to let him go unless I've got a damn good, solid reason to believe he's endangered."

Robbie almost smiled. "My lips are sealed."

"They damn well better be."

X

Peter Parker didn't like this one bit. Ever since he'd heard about Brock being back in town, he'd gotten paranoid – okay, so he was already paranoid, so more paranoid than usual – and he kept looking over his shoulder even as he left the Daily Bugle. Should he even risk web-slinging his way home? What if Brock was waiting for him to go swinging by? Maybe the subway would be safer…but then again, it'd make for something even worse if Brock caught him there – he'd be stuck underground and even more civilians might get hurt.

If Peter didn't get gray hairs from this whole mess, he was going to be  _ very _ surprised.

He just didn't get it, he reflected as he quickly changed into his Spider-man outfit. Just didn't get it at all. What did Brock want? Peter found it hard to believe that he just wanted to work an honest living again as a journalist – somehow getting fired from the Daily Bugle had been the last straw and something flipped a switch inside the older man. Like some kind of Crazy Switch or something. He still felt bad about pretty much getting Brock fired, but feeling guilty didn't mean he could let Brock get away with hurting innocents.

Swinging past the Daily Bugle and headed back to Queens, Spider-man had to wonder just how much of Eddie Brock was still left. He remembered all too well how it felt to have his own sense of self seem to melt away, being eaten and absorbed by the symbiote, and he'd actually been trying to fight off the alien at the time. Maybe the Brock he knew was gone by now, replaced only with that…that  _ thing _ calling itself "Venom".

Guilty. That's what he felt. That and a certain amount of pity.

It was his fault.  _ He _ created Venom. And now the people he cared about were all in danger because Venom knew  _ everything _ about Peter Parker. And he…he knew absolutely nothing about Venom. No idea how Brock and the symbiote thought together, how they felt together, or even much of either's history. Nothing aside from the fact that they were pretty pissed off at both Peter Parker and Spider-man, and how utterly convenient it was that both were one and the same.

The priority was to get home. Make sure his family and friends were alright, make sure they were safe, and make sure Brock hadn't paid a visit. Then he could try figuring out how to deal with this…

Spider-man was so preoccupied with the news of Brock that he swung right past the glint of binoculars without even noticing them. The woman behind the binoculars tracked the blue and red outfit of the superhero, red lips set in a thin line of concentration, until he vanished around a corner, before lifting up her gloved hand and speaking into the headset.

"Spider-man sighted," she said calmly into the mouth piece. "Going north, northwest, I'm estimating he's traveling somewhere between thirty, forty miles per hour. Looks like he's in a hurry. Do you want me to pursue and engage subject?"

The headset buzzed on the other end.  _ "No. Spider-man's not the primary target; that black mutant from before is. Pursue, but do not engage. Repeat. Do not engage." _

The woman sighed.

" _ You're not being paid to engage the subject. Marko is _ ."

"He's just a thug," the woman muttered in distaste, flipping back a sheet of silver hair over her shoulder as she tucked the binoculars back into her belt. Today she dressed conservatively, wearing a form-fitting outfit that wouldn't restrict movement, but would also keep her arms, legs, and body well protected. She had been a mercenary for as long as she could remember; playing dress up and running around in skimpy little outfits was good if you wanted to look uselessly pretty and show off, but Silver Sablinovia was here for a job and that meant playing it safe, not playing it pretty.

" _ Silver Sable, this is still his idea and his operation, even if the Kingpin is backing it and your Wild Pack _ ," replied the voice into her ear. " _ Marko will engage Spider-man. That is all. Move out _ ."

This wasn't one of her better jobs, Silver Sable thought as she made her way down from the rooftop and toward the waiting van parked in the alley. One of her operatives held open the door for her and she slid in as they went in pursuit along the streets of Manhattan, dodging traffic and overzealous taxis as she began running over the arsenal they had at their disposal. This whole job just didn't smell right. She had heard a select little about this black mutant of Marko's, but she wasn't entirely sure that attacking Spider-man would bring him out in the open. She liked it even less that they didn't know anything about this beast. Worse was the fact they were working on practically little intel….

Her briefing had been short. Too short. It basically consisted of:

1). Locate Spider-man.

2). Relay location to contact.

3). Pursue.

4). Subdue real target – UniRegM (Unidentified Unregistered Mutant - URM).

5). Turn sedated target over to Flint Marko (nothing about what to do with  _ Spider-man _ , who she was sure wouldn't take all of this sitting down).

In other words, they were winging it. Silver Sable disapproved of this utter lack of any real planning. Marko might work like that, but she liked to do a job and  _ do it right _ , and she didn't take chances with what she was taking to this confrontation. Her small selected team from Wild Pack had enough sedatives, prototype tranquilizers and firepower to take down Spider-man several times over, although Marko had assured her that this black mutant of his was far stronger. They were to take this beast alive.

Silver Sable made sure to bring enough to blow it sky high anyway.

Just in case.

Well, it could always be worse. She heard Kingpin's first choice was that lunatic mercenary calling himself "Deadpool", but unfortunately it seemed he was…busy; which was probably for the better because from what'd she heard about Deadpool, the man was just downright  _ insane _ . Certifiably crazy.  _ No _ sense of professionalism from what she'd read up on his previous missions. No sense of teamwork and she wouldn't be at all surprised if they put his picture next to the definitions for  _ unreliable _ and  _ unpredictable _ in a dictionary someday. With Deadpool, you'd be ensured your target would end up dead. That, and any and all bystanders, whether intentionally or just for kicks. Silver Sable had to admit she was relieved to know that Kingpin came to her next. At least  _ she _ was competent and didn't treat jobs like sport.

Still. Deadpool was a potential, extremely dangerous competitor. Even if he hadn't replied to the offer, for all she knew he could be making his way down here right this very minute. Wild Pack couldn't afford to make any mistakes and offer an opening for him; despite this ridiculous job, they'd follow it to the letter and get this black mutant Kingpin so very much wanted without letting that lunatic mercenary get a chance.

But...she refused to lose her whole team on account of useless intel. If these were the kind of jobs Kingpin offered, sacrificing mercenaries carelessly as if they were his typical pawns, then she'd even be willing to step aside for this Deadpool character…if it came to that. She hoped it wouldn't.

"You have a lock on Spider-man?" Silver Sable asked the driver of their van.

He nodded.

"Alright," Silver Sable turned around in her seat, facing the faceless men and women of Wild Pack. They all wore the same armor and body suits, their faces fully covered, gleaming HUD visors feeding in any useful data. Identifying them would be next to impossible. "I'll only go over this once. We're  _ not _ after Spider-man; I don't want to see anyone getting trigger-happy just because he'll be there. We're running this Flint Marko's way," she paused, made a little disdainful sniff, and then continued sternly. "He believes from his last encounter that attacking Spider-man might lure out this URM."

She counted heads again. Ten in this van, another ten in the next van, and thirteen more split up between smaller cars stationed around the area, not counting the drivers. More than enough. Not one of them moved, their covered faces tilted toward her attentively, HUDs glowing a gentle blue.

"We close in once this URM enters the immediate battle zone and engages Marko; the objective is to subdue it for capture and delivery to our employer," Silver Sable continued. "You all know the drill. I want to keep civilian casualties to a minimum; but most importantly we want to keep our own casualties to a minimum…." she trailed off. Now came the hard part. "In the unlikely scenario…if it looks like our teams are suffering over a seventy-five percent casualty rate, we break contract."

The driver next to her started a little in surprise at this but kept on steering them after Spider-man. They never broke contract before. They hadn't failed before either.

Silver Sable met the eyes of her fellow mercenaries: this little talk was being broadcast through her headset's mouthpiece to the other Wild Pack members in the other vehicles. "You heard me. We break contract. We shoot to kill. We can't collect if we're all dead and we can't take future jobs if we're six feet under. Be prepared to take positions once I get the call from Marko."

She turned back in her seat, collecting herself. Her team was more than capable, but there were just too many unknown factors here. Even thinking about failure left her a bad taste in her mouth. Silver Sable hated failure with a passion. She hated not knowing the odds.

But she loathed needless wasting of lives and resources even more.

If this Kingpin and his lapdog Flint Marko thought they could use Wild Pack as mere canon fodder, they were sorely mistaken.

X

The phone call with Jonah Jameson was all over the Daily Globe's offices by now, despite the fact no one knew who contacted him. It didn't matter: Eddie Brock just couldn't stop grinning like an idiot. Today was good. No, today was better than good, it was  _ fantastic _ and he decided that he for once deserved to bask in it while it lasted.

When Eddie arrived at the Globe's offices, intending to immediately start digging around some more through the Archives about Sandman, he'd been met by what had to be at least half the staff wanting to clap him on the back or shake his hand, all the while exchanging knowing smirks or winks, with even a few enthusiastic thumbs up thrown in. He hadn't known exactly what the occasion was until his new boss beckoned him into his personal office, plunked him down in an overstuffed chair and they both listened to a recording of the phone call, with Jameson's tinny, enraged voice bouncing across the walls of the spacious office. They listened to it a second time and had just as good laugh as the first time around.

"I haven't ever seen Jonah this riled up," the head of the Daily Globe snickered, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "Oh man…I should be angry we've got a mole, but honestly? This was the funniest thing I've heard all week. Comedy gold-mine!"

Eddie only wished he could've seen the look on his former boss's face. Parker would have found out eventually, but hearing the good news at the  _ Bugle _ made it that much more precious. He didn't have time to be sitting here gloating, but it felt good. Really good.

"I only wish I could've been there," the other man was saying wistfully, echoing Eddie's thoughts. He shook his head, still grinning into his salt and pepper beard, tried to return to business, and failed completely at wiping the smirk away. "He'll definitely be on his toes now that we've got  _ you _ ."

"He really should've treated his employees better," Eddie replied glibly and nearly pitched face first into the desk when his new boss suddenly pounded him violently on the back, reeking of over-enthusiasm.

"Goddamn straight he should!" the Globe's publisher chortled heartily. "Really now, we've been trying to contact you for  _ months _ trying to offer you a better position, Brock - I'll never know why you let yourself get reamed by Jonah as long as you did."

The blonde suffered through the back-pounding, keeping the increasingly forced grin plastered on his face. He didn't really care for his new employer, but they needed access, they needed to be on this insignificant man's good side and therefore needed to keep grinning and bearing it until they got the information they wanted. Eddie put on an unconcerned air as he leaned a little away from the other man, hoping to avoid another of those annoying back pounds:

"Well, you heard old Jonah. He's biased. Tends to influence his staff. I…wasn't aware of how bad my position was at the Bugle until I got fired for no reason," Eddie said through his gritted teeth. "Saw what a chance you guys were giving me and decided to take it."

"I heard some new kid got you canned?"

Eddie scowled, his sunny mood dashed. "Basically."

"Don't go doing anything," the bearded publisher warned, suddenly serious. "I think it's bullshit too you got fired, but I won't be liable for something happening to that kid. What was he called? Parker?"

"I don't care about the kid," Eddie lied. The Other twitched in the back of his skull at the turn this conversation was taking - all this talk about their Spider made Eddie need servicing.  _ Again _ . It was getting pathetic now. Last week the mere mention of Parker wouldn't make them suddenly lose all control. He steeled himself; he'd at least like to make it to a restroom before they started their newest enactment of Alien Masturbation Time right in front of his boss, "I'm just here for that second chance you guys offered."

That seemed to reassure the other man. He leaned forward. "I understand that and I'm glad you finally came to your senses. Still, you've only been feeding us bits and pieces of all the juicy stuff about our friends at the Bugle. You're being a tease."

Eddie pretended to blush. "It's not fun if it's all in one big chunk," he said, getting up. They couldn't hold out much longer. "You'll get the whole story sometime."

He left, managed to dodge past his new supporters – half of who seemed to think Eddie was the newest celebrity to be mobbed – and just barely made it into the handicapped bathroom, locking the doors behind him after a few seconds of desperate fumbling. It was nine by ten feet, plenty of room for their now twice daily servicing; he didn't have time to note much else, as he found himself already forcefully propped up against the sink by the symbiote, who seemed to be even more hungry for this kind of contact than he was, if that was possible. The black dress shirt and slacks Eddie had been wearing were already gone, vanishing back into his Other and leaving him straining in the cool, recycled air of the bathroom.

_ My species tends to adopt sexual appetites similar to ours hosts the closer we become to mating. We need to service much, much more in order to try to delay the actual mating _ , the symbiote purred, its annoyance stained by hunger.  _ Open up _ .

Completely nude, Eddie obediently spread his legs wide open as he was hoisted up onto a half sitting position on the icy-cold surface of the sink. It managed to hold their combined weight, miraculously, although the stupid faucet was digging painfully into his back. He tried shifting to the side, only to get the damn thing jammed into his ribs now, and then promptly forgot about the faucet entirely as the Other immediately began its servicing of its host with more energy than he was accustomed to. Eddie tilted his head back as one oozing tentacle of it, gleaming sleek and black in the restroom's harsh lights, crept across the planes of his taut stomach, inching quickly down toward his already erect member as another curled up to his neck, caressing his cheek.

It'd be easier if he could come up with a good Spider scenario, but as that faucet was still trying very hard to stab him between the ribs, his mind went blank, leaving just him and his Other and no fantasy of a writhing Parker to sweeten the deal.

His legs were prodded up none too gently by the impatient symbiote, spread to the point where Eddie couldn't help a whimper of pain that he bit down on at the last moment, the whimper turning into a throaty moan as the other began to curl around his shaft, another coming up under his thighs and working their way toward his entrance. The tentacles under his legs solidified, thickening as the blonde craned his head, trying not to bang it into the mirror like an idiot even as the symbiote rippled itself enthusiastically along his cock.

That was new, Eddie had time to think, startled, before he felt the newly formed tentacles pressing insistently between his legs, trying to force their way past his rim.

"H-hey!" he tried to push it away, feeling increasingly nervous. His other never went this solid during the servicing sessions, more liquid than anything else, and he was pretty sure it'd be pretty painful to get something that big getting poked up his ass.

_ Doesn't matter. We need it. We _ hunger  _ for it. _

Hold on. Hold a second! His Other couldn't just go  _ sticking _ stuff like that up there without –

_ Yes we can, we must, our hungers, need to fulfill _ this  _ one. You can heal. _

In the symbiote's excitement, Eddie suddenly caught a glimpse of pure understanding as it let a few of its personal shields go down. Just a scattered series of images and sound, a scene of a different kind of feeding with puddles of blood and opened skulls, but he paled, forgetting about the mirror, forgetting about the facet in his ribs, forgetting how uncomfortable this position was, and forgetting entirely about what had to be a laughably huge alien dildo trying to penetrate him without any lube whatsoever.

Eddie felt the blood drain out of his face as he reeled in shock, and really  _ did _ hit that mirror with the back of his head this time as he scooted backward, as if he could get away from the horrible realization dawning on him. The blonde didn't even notice the stars bursting in front of his eyes or the pain blossoming.

All he knew was he felt sick. And horrified. Very,  _ very _ horrified.

" _ Why didn't you tell me _ ?" he hissed in cold fury, shaken, trying to sit up and getting stabbed right in the side again by the faucet. "I thought we only had this one hunger!"

The symbiote kept trying to continue with the invasive servicing, evasively not replying, but Eddie managed to fend it off with almost inhuman strength born out of desperation. He couldn't do it forever, but he wanted answers. He wanted them  _ now _ , especially after that brutal, inadvertent flash of memory his Other accidentally let slip…

They  _ were _ Venom.

_ They were Venom, but their host consciousness was asleep. He was just so, so very busy with trying to find everything they could about this Man of Sand that when he came to make a nest to sleep in, his brain activity always dropped like a rock the moment he would lie down. He was so exhausted that the symbiote had no difficulty at all controlling their joint body, hijacking it like a puppet on strings and merging completely into Venom for…what would Eddie Brock call it? Oh yes, a "night on the town" - even if this "New York" was pitifully small compared to the other civilization dwellings they had seen in the past. "Night on the town". Endearingly quaint. _

_ They were hungry. Starving, actually. And not in the bodily sense. The symbiote had taken care of that a few hours earlier, even if their host pretty much fell asleep right in the middle, amazingly enough. _

_ No, this was a different kind of hunger. _

_ An ancient hunger. _

_ They were Venom. _

_ They were Venom and they hungered for fresh blood tonight. _

_ From what Venom gleaned from both host and Spider, the pits of downtown would be best for their hunting, with that area called "Queens" and "Forest Hills" out of the question. Their Spider most certainly didn't know about this particular feeding habit and if things went correctly, Eddie Brock would be none the wiser either. Venom remained inverted on the wall of the abandoned building, splayed claws punching holes in the brick, fanged snout pointed down in his permanent leer, slimy tongue lolling this way and that as he scoped out the area quickly, eager to get his stomach stated and back to the human-nest before his host consciousness woke up. _

_ Several potential targets. Some didn't look too appetizing; toxins swam about them, probably from those chemicals these humans sometimes insisted on injecting, drinking or inhaling all the time in order to otherwise abuse their frail systems. _

_ They needed a healthy one. Tainted ones were only if they were desperate – they gave Venom stomach cramps. _

_ Look around. _

_ There had to be a healthy one around here. _

_ There. _

_ Sitting by the dock, hidden behind a grate of netted fish from the rest of the homeless humans wandering. _

_ Venom crouched and released, pushing off the side of the building and sailing silently through the night, landing neatly on the roof of the dock's old administration building and creeping along stealthily on all fours, soulless eyes concentrated forward. The hunger was unbearable now, like a burning itch everywhere: in his face, eyes, arms, heart, both conscious and unconscious minds, like insects crawling up under their skin. They had only a day before even the host would start feeling this new hunger, so tonight had to be the night they made a kill and fed. _

_ The prey tonight was a scrawny little human infant, dressed in rags with holes. Adolescent by Eddie Brock's terms, probably around fourteen, but to the symbiote, to the main awareness of Venom tonight, this one was a mere blip, a spot of insignificance that would never grow up to ever see what lay beyond. It wouldn't even make it out of this tiny planet's atmosphere, much less encounter even one of the vast number of civilizations stretched across the endless expanse of space. _

_ The thought was strangely saddening. _

_ For a brief, split second, Venom felt actual pity toward this creature sitting on the dock kicking its legs, oblivious to the predator watching only several yards away. _

_ He would make this fast. As…as an apology of sorts. Just what for, Venom wasn't sure, seeing as there was no real logical reason he should be feeling sorry in the first place. This was really only a matter of food, with no real hatred aimed at this human. Perhaps Eddie Brock and Peter Parker had influenced the symbiote in unexpected ways with their contact, seeing as they, as humans, were subject to this silly Earth system of "ethics" and "morals". _

_ The actual kill took less than two seconds. Simply a matter of pounce. Open jaws. Close around the neck. Twist. Wrench free. Shove the corpse into black waters of the Hudson. Retreat with their prize back up onto a rooftop, where Venom could feed without being disturbed. Once situated in a good spot, Venom opened his jaws, still on all fours. _

_ A bloodied head tumbled out, bounced a little and came to a rest facing up. _

_ Picking up the severed head, Venom cradled it almost reverently in one claw as he began to set to work with his hand unlocking the prize inside the skull. It took a few minutes, but soon Venom was chewing happily on something coiled, pink and covered with blood. _

_ They were Venom and they were sated tonight. _

Eddie couldn't get that image out of his head, no matter how hard he tried, and gagged, sure he was going to be sick. He slid off the sink and found himself on the floor, gagging, nausea flooding through him. Jesus. Jesus  _ Christ _ . It kept repeating his head like a mantra, the only thing keeping him from trying to claw his way out of the locked restroom and throwing himself in front of a bus or something.

The symbiote was silent for a moment, lying now in a deceptively meek black puddle under its naked host.

_ I didn't tell you because you didn't need to know. _

Oh, he damn well  _ did _ !

_ We functioned fine before without you knowing. This is why you never knew, because you would blow our natural feeding out of proportion – like all the other humans would. _

"How  _ else _ was I supposed to take it?" Brock demanded, feeling his insides flopping around in little somersaults of hysterical nausea. "You can't just go up to people and go 'I want to eat your brains'! What the  _ fuck _ ! Honestly, the fuck is wrong with you!"

_ We require a chemical found in human brains. It may not be…ethical to you as a human, but we need it to survive. _

"And if I refuse?" Eddie snarled. For the first time since meeting his Other, he almost understood how Parker felt toward the alien symbiote.

_ We suffer hunger withdrawals. _ Both  _ of us. In other words, we lose our sense of self and reason, and go insane. I wouldn't advise trying to resist this particular hunger – I have seen others of my kind try to resist their own individual hungers and it was quite terrible, _ the symbiote replied matter-of-factly.

It projected a quick series of jumbled memories, each one worse than the last.

Eddie shut up.

_ You are free to try to resist feeding _ , the symbiote continued, the black ooze bubbling innocently between its host's bare thighs sitting on the tile of the floor.  _ But I will continue to fight it, and you, if you choose this foolishness. _

"How…how many? How many have you killed?" Eddie whispered. He felt dead. Defeated. "Just how long have you been doing this with our body?"

The symbiote hesitated.

_ Since we bonded. The very night we met, I was dying – our Spider wounded me a great deal. We _ needed  _ to feed, otherwise we wouldn't make it to the next morning alive, and you were in no state to care what I did. I made my first kill with you as my host an hour and five minutes after our first meeting, and you were actually conscious for that one. _

_ We have fed on twenty-six healthy humans and one tainted one to this day. _

Making a strangled sort of moan, Eddie buried his face in his hands, feeling like he could cry but unable to get any tears out.

Maybe Parker was right. They  _ were _ a monster after all.

Because we feed to exist? the symbiote asked dryly. I think not.

An inky tendril of the symbiote curled up in the air, brushing Eddie's face lovingly.

_ A monster is subjective, Host Mine. Humans are monsters to those they prey on. We feed just like any human; we simply have a change in diet, nothing more or less. We are who we are…provided we continue to feed. A brain is just flesh, blood and electrical impulses, essentially. It's hardly different from the meat you humans already feed on, except…fresher. _

It all seemed to make sense, but…

_ You will have to come to terms with it eventually _ , the Other murmured.  _ All hosts do _ . It seemed to think of something, sounding almost gentle as it added:  _ If it would make the transition easier, we can feed when your brain sleeps, just as before. _

"…Okay," Eddie felt like he'd been picked up, shaken violently and then set down like a limp rag doll. "I better not wake up in the middle of-of any of that."

_ As you wish. May we please finish up what we started here? _

Eddie didn't care. He watched and felt all of what transpired next like it happened to a stranger, as if it was a movie and he was sitting as a mere audience member, locked in the theater with no way out, with no choice but to sit it out and watch. The black tentacles of the symbiote oozed around him and began to service him as he sat there stunned on the tiled floor – one speared right up from the ebony puddle under him and penetrated his entrance, wiggling in deeper – pain stabbed at him from inside and the blonde felt a detached sound of distress escape past his mouth even as he wiggled his hips to slide down deeper on the gleaming shaft.

Had he really been conscious for that first kill? How come he didn't remember it?

The symbiote brought up thinner tendrils running up his chest, toying with his bared, hardened nipples, a thicker one coiled around his neck like a snake and began trying to press against his lips. Numbly he felt himself giving way, the coil thick and hot in his mouth as it burrowed deeper down his throat. Rocking back and forth, still on his knees, Brock felt himself slowly being lowered so that he lay face down, pillowed with one outstretched arm. He scrunched his eyes shut as the pumping inside both his entrances increased in tempo and strength, feeling invaded from front and back.

It seemed to go on forever and despite the detachment – shock? – it  _ hurt _ . A lot. It almost never hurt before.

When Eddie came to again, he realized that not only was his whole body achingly sore and tingly, his arm was killing him. Something tasted funny, metallic and when he looked down, he realized why. During the last bit of the session, in order to keep from crying out-loud and alerting the others to their activities, he'd bitten right into his forearm to muffle his voice, ripping open a long, jagged gash running from wrist to elbow that normal human teeth simply couldn't manage. Reaching up shakily to his mouth, he felt the dagger-sharp edges of a row of fangs starting to retreat, slick with his own blood.

_ All servicing will be like this _ , the Other said.  _ Until we mate. Then it will go back to normal. It won't hurt then. The mating itself will be both enjoyable and painful – for all parties involved. Sadly, I cannot say the same about the actual birthing. _

"I bit myself," Eddie mumbled in dull surprise. "S'hurts."

_ We didn't want to make noise and draw attention. It was a smart move. That injury is relatively minor for a servicing session this close to mating. _

Finding that hard to believe and not at all reassuring, the blonde journalist stood up, swayed drunkenly, and righted himself on the sink with his good arm. There were a few cracks from where he'd hit the mirror and his haggard reflection gazed back at him. Moist blood still coated his chin and nose. He alternated between wiping and licking it off until his face was clean again, trying to fix his mussed dirty blonde hair and giving up. Eddie wasn't sure if he imagined it, but it almost felt like his Other was sympathetic as he bent down and wiped up the little lake of his own blood on the floor with a paper towel. He had to grab some toilet paper in order to try to stem the blood from his arm.

They had been inside for only five minutes.

_ Why don't we go outside for a bit _ ? the symbiote suggested helpfully.  _ Exercise tends to help. _

Eddie nodded mutely.

What he needed right now was to get out of the Globe and just web-sling for a bit. Get his mind out of this bathroom, try to take all this in. And recover, he supposed.

Yes, going outside might be just the thing.

X

Why  _ hadn't _ he taken the subway?

Spider-man hated his luck. Really, really, really hated it. It just wasn't fair; he'd been so terrified of Eddie Brock coming after him in the subway, yet there was absolutely no sign of the man or his psycho black sweatshirt. Maybe if he'd just gone as Peter Parker and taken the subway, he wouldn't be in this mess. Come to think of it, he didn't even know what he was doing here, madly trying to dodge Sand Dude for the second time in a month and not even sure why he was getting attacked in the first place.

The New York Public Library was in view when his spider-sense suddenly erupted in his head like a deafening klaxon right in his ear. Spider-man had been so startled that he let go of his web-line prematurely and dropped a story, just as a massive pillar of sand rocketed over his head, missed him, and smashed into the side of a building.

"What the - ?" Spider-man craned his head, quickly regaining his bearings and veering away from the Queensboro Bridge. His heart dropped as he caught sight of a familiar striped shirt. "Oh jeez," the teenager muttered. "Not now, now's  _ not _ a good time for a round of Kick Spidey."

He narrowly dodged another jet of sand, leaping up and landing neatly on a flag pole protruding horizontally from a nearby apartment building. Sandman retracted his arm from the street below as cars skid to a halt around him, others simply piling into one another, civilians fleeing in all directions. Spider-man scowled, wishing they'd hurry and get out of the way, then cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted down to the street.

" _ Hey! Seriously, what's your problem now _ ?"

" _ Get down here _ !" Sandman yelled back. It was hard to make out what he was saying. " _ We're finishin' this _ !"

" _ Finishing what _ ?" Spider-man kept an eye on his opponent as he walked backward from the flagpole parallel to the street and up the wall. If he could get up onto the roof tops, he'd feel a lot safer. " _ I thought we were the bestest of best friends, Sand Dude! Is this a date? The least you could do was call, it's only polite _ !"

Something that sounded suspiciously like "mouthy jackass" floated up.

" _ I heard that _ !" Spider-man had about a split second's of warning to dive straight down off the building as a double-headed hammer of sand suddenly came barreling up toward him.

He tucked in and kept his body straight as he dived one story. Two stories. Three and he let loose a line of web at the last second, missing the ground by a few feet and streaking right at a surprised Sandman. Spider-man got in a good double-kick just as the older man was starting to dissolve defensively into sand, knocking him onto his back, and sailed up into the air again, somersaulting as he shook off some sand and then made a bee line away toward the New York Public Library. Clouds of smoke were rising from several of the crashed cars.

Down on the ground, Flint Marko collected himself, reforming and sitting up as a series of unmarked vans and cars came up on the scene. He brushed himself off as Silver Sable joined him. The female mercenary crossed her arms, unimpressed.

"Well?"

Flint shrugged. "Jumpy little bugger. He won't get far."

"Can you even hit him?" Silver Sable was watching Spider-man in the distance, her sharp eyes analyzing his movements, looking for any openings or weakness. She cocked her tranquilizer rifle with a click, checking the chamber. "I could slow him down for you." The rounds she had were enough to bring a team of horses down.

"Whatever. Do it." Flint Marko grunted out the side of his craggy mouth and melted into a river of sand that bounded in great leaps down the abandoned section of Fifth Avenue after Spider-man. Taking her time and remaining where she stood, Silver Sable shook back her luminous hair over one shoulder, lifted the rifle up and carefully began to take aim…

"Oh man oh man oh man," Spider-man said over and over as he booked it to the Public Library.

He seriously couldn't go back to Aunt May's now. It just tore him apart to be stuck running around  _ this _ guy when all he really wanted to do was make sure his family and friends were safe from Brock. Running away forever from Sandman wouldn't work – he had to think of something to immobilize him for good. He was good with thinking on the fly. That's how he made it this far. Sandman was fast, but Spider-man had a feeling he might be faster if he only put his mind to it. After all, he'd scored an actual hit only a few seconds ago.

Run in. Sucker punch him before he had time to de-solidify or harden. Run out. Rinse and repeat.

Sounded like a  _ great _ plan…until he could buy enough time to think of something better, because looking over his shoulder, that Sand Dude was getting awfully close for comfort. His time was running out

Spider-man passed over the stone lions guarding the stairs leading up to the library and vaulted up until he was perched on the corners of the roof. Sandman took aim and missed – but just barely. He began swinging at Spider-man with both arms and it was all he could do to keep from getting flattened into the Library. One of the misses caved in a section of the stairs, sending chunks of it flying. Another bowled off the head of one of the lion statues, sending it flying into a parked semi-truck's trailer and right out the other side.

"Hey, I don't suppose we can talk about this?" Spider-man called down and back-flipped away from the latest miss, sprawling on the wall behind him. "I'm sorry, but I don't think it'll work out between us! What with you getting beat by an ugly stick and YOW - !"

Sandman clearly didn't appreciate his wit – he was scowling and looking seriously pissed off, which was the one thing he'd been hoping for. It was running a risk (it'd hurt a lot more to get hit), but his aim probably wouldn't be the best. Spider-man was about to start diving in for what would have to be the most stupid charge in his life when he heard a strange little high pitched sound.

_ Pft! _

"Pft?" Spider-man echoed, bewildered.

He looked down and was rather puzzled to see a little shiny cylinder sticking out of his shoulder. It didn't hurt, not exactly, but he was starting to feel weird and funny where it hit. He pulled it out, looked at it for half a second…realized just what it was.  _ Oh _ . Okay,  _ awkward _ . He hadn't really counted on getting shot up like this. It took the barest of milliseconds to come to the conclusion he probably shouldn't be standing there, presenting such a nice big target, but by then there was another  _ pft _ of compressed air. Spider-man's head tilted back slightly even as his hand came up to remove the second dart imbedded in the side of his neck.

Without thinking, he started to vault up to roof to the library, thinking only of blind escape and feeling panic welling, when he heard that dreaded puff of air again. Spider-man never made it. He came down on the balls of his feet and rocked slightly, feeling the third tranquilizer dart rooted to his chest right above his heart. He staggered as the potent chemicals from all the darts began to invade his body.

Wow.

So this was what it felt like to get all hopped up?

Who knew it'd be so…so…so weird? So fast? Weird  _ and _ fast?

He didn't know what this stuff was, but it sure acted fast, didn't it? What'd they shoot him with anyway? Elephant tranquilizers? Feet were pretty much disconnected (gone!) and he felt all light-headed and floppy, what with the world zoning in and out, as if he was traveling through a tunnel on rewind and fast forward - at the same time. Oop, and there went his arms now, with a bizarre sense of weightless inertia carrying them away, leaving his arms dangling limply and his head to droop down toward his chest, barely able to stand upright.  _ Pft _ ! Just like that. Like whoever was shooting him. Pft!

Spider-man looked down slowly and found a fourth tranquilizer dart in his thigh.

" 'kay, now thas' jus' unnec'ssary," he slurred and teetered unevenly.

The teenager managed to raise his head – it felt like someone injected concrete into his skull - looked up, saw the giant fist of sand coming right at him and found at he couldn't even move his legs.

Spider-man caught the full force of the blow, body snapping back, and went sailing with a crash of glass through one of the windows and into the Public Library itself. He crashed heavily through one of the long wooden tables in one of the Research Halls, torn papers fluttering around the point of impact as glass shards rained down around him. Outside, Silver Sable lowered her rifle and discreetly switched positions in order to get a better aim on the windows, her hand going up to her ear-piece. All the other members of Wild Pack were scattered around the area by now.

" _ Just how many did you shoot him with _ ?" Flint's voice demanded.

Silver Sable reloaded. "Four. Shouldn't kill him. Seven is the calculated lethal dose."

" _ He was just standing there, he didn't even try to dodge me _ ." Flint sounded deflated. " _ You overdid it _ ."

"You wanted him to stop moving around," Silver Sable replied coolly. "He's stopped. We're not here to play games, Marko."

Flint shook his head. Women. Crazy, the whole lot of them. Damn good reason not to bother if it could be helped. Still, they had been fighting Spider-man for what? Half an hour, tops? That black mutant had come charging in almost the second he'd started kicking Spider-man around and now there was still no sign of him. Maybe he'd heard wrong? What if this mutant wasn't interested in this kid playing superhero?

Doubt began to set in. This could be an incredibly costly mistake if he was wrong.

With this in mind, he mounted the steps of the Library and let himself in, the doors blasting off their hinges and thumping hard to the floor below. The place wasn't quite abandoned; he could hear terrified whispers and someone crying in the distance, but he wasn't overly worried. He took his time picking his way through the ruins until he saw the wreckage from Spider-man's impact, rounding the splintered table cautiously. A set of leanly muscled arms were protruding over part of the table, hanging limply over what remained of it. Flint kept his distance for a moment.

Whatever the hell Silver Sable shot Spider-man up with, it was some damn powerful stuff, Flint realized, gazing down at Spider-man. The kid – he had to be a kid, what with the high school insults – was practically comatose from the tranquilizers, his masked face lolling aimlessly from one side to the other, legs sliding feebly across the wood splinters and glass shards littering the floor as if he was trying to stand up and couldn't quite find the ground. Flint almost felt sorry for the kid. He was a wreck, not even a shadow of that annoying punk flipping around like he was on crack  _ and _ a massive sugar-high. This wasn't even a challenge.

Those were some amazing shots, but in the end, they were cheap ones. Shooting from afar was a pussy tactic in Flint's book, but he had to give grudging props to Silver Sable: she  _ was _ efficient in what she did, although he'd have to take her word that all those tranqs wouldn't kill Spider-man. Approaching the defeated superhero, Flint easily picked him up, holding him in the air by one useless arm. Several of the darts were still lodged in the other's body despite the fall, amazingly enough.

"Havin' fun?" Flint asked conversationally. "Wish I could say I was, but this fight was so short it doesn't even count."

Spider-man gave a thick groan. His head slumped down to rest heavily on his shoulder.

"I agree, she  _ did _ overdo it," Flint replied. "Between us, I think one tranq woulda been plenty, but no, she had t'shoot you up with  _ four _ . Women're crazy, huh?"

Another dazed moan. Spider-man's left arm twitched like he wanted to move it.

"I know you can hear me, Spider-man. Where's your big friend?"

"…dunno…w…wha' talkin'…talkinbout," Spider-man slurred into his shoulder.

"Sure y'don't."

" h-home….e…Eddie…"

Flint contemplated the defeated superhero. It would be so easy to reach out and pull off that red mask, but it seemed like a bit of a cop-out to do it this fast in the game. Unfair especially since Silver Sable was responsible for putting Spider-man out of commission, not  _ him _ , so…yeah. Maybe next encounter, when the odds weren't so stacked against his opponent. Four fucking tranqs. No wonder Spider-man couldn't even string a sentence together. Christ. That silver bitch was  _ crazy _ .

Winding sand around Spider-man's leg and forming them into thick ropes, he dropped the smaller man none too gently on the floor and began dragging him out the way Flint came in minutes before. His captive didn't put up much of a resistance, even as they exited the ruins of the Library doors, and into meager sunlight struggling to peak through the thick rain clouds hovering over Manhattan. There was no sign of Silver Sable.

His headpiece crackled. " _ Told you he's still alive _ ."

Flint dragged Spider-man down the stairs after him like a sack of luggage. "You practically put him in a coma," he returned, irritated. "Good going."

" _ Is he still moving _ ?"

"Barely. He's out of it."

" _ Still alive. There you go _ ."

By now he could hear the sound of sirens. Great.

His headpiece suddenly screeched as one of the other Wild Pack members shouted something. It sounded like "target", except the last part cut off into something that sounded like a scared yell, gunfire and then ended with a sickening snap.

" _ We've got company _ !" Silver Sable's tinny voice said crisply. " _ Teams, flash bangs on my mark. Marko, primary target approaching fast from Sixth. We've got him clocked at 50 mph and counting; he's coming in _ hot.”

Flint tossed Spider-man aside at this news, cracking his knuckles.

"–  _ Wild Pack 7 and 13 have visual confirmation of primary target _ –"

"-  _ Wild Pack 21 confirming visuals. Target is entering the designated outer perimeter _ – "

"-  _ Target has made contact with Wild Pack 1… Wild Pack 1 KIA; Wild Pack 8 MIA, probably KIA as well _ -"

Flint rolled his neck back and forth until it popped, getting nice and loosened up.

It was go time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if there is anything I should change in future chapters, especially after chapter 9 is published, several people were disappointed with the original chapter 10 (Something Wicked). Also give me ideas for chapters. Let me know what you might like to see in future chapters. I can be contacted at Abaddon.Celesteen@gmail.com or on Discord at Abaddon Celesteen#4339
> 
> I have decided to update once a month, I have no set date for when I will be updating, it will just be once a month.


	5. Not an update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not an update

I have not forgotten about this and I am not abandoning it. I decided to take a break since I posted the prologue and 3 chapters of Black Sustenance in October. But that break has turned into a hiatus. I've been really busy with school and the editing of the chapters is really time consuming and exhausting since I can't upload the original from Fanfiction.net, so I have to add the italics back in by hand. It makes my brain hurt. I have considered getting someone to help me with the italics, but I'm a paranoid perfectionist and doing it myself ensures that I'm less likely to be missing something.

Again I am very sorry, I'm hoping to get back to it soon, but I can't promise anything.


	6. Not an update (Writing is really hard)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys.

I have not given up on this story! I promise! Life has been very difficult lately. I still need to copy and paste all the old chapters on here. Sadly, transferring them from Fanfiction.net to Google docs to here has not been so easy. I have to manually re-add the italics in and I'm a perfectionist so I insist on making sure all the italics are properly adding and my inner protectionist insists that I am the only one who can make sure all the italics are added and none are missed.

I could desperately use a CO author or two or three to help me out with copy and pasting the chapters and adding in the italics. Be warned, I am pretty advanced in spelling, grammar, and punctuation, so if I ask you to change a specific thing, I swear I am only trying to be helpful.

Please comment if you are interested in being a co author, you do have to be somewhat familiar of how to use Google docs and be able to access the old fanfic on fanfiction.net and be able to cleary see the italics in the old fanfic. As well as be familiar with how adding chapters to a work on Archive of Our Own operates.


	7. When Eddie Met Peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original story was by Famira Damaris. They had no intentions of continuing it, and granted me permission and ownership of the fanfic.
> 
> If you want to read the original please go here: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/2004088/1/Black-Sustenance (chapter 1 is the prologue)
> 
> Italics for thoughts/emphasis/symbiote
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SPIDER-MAN, OR ANY OTHER CHARACTERS IN THIS FANFIC.

For once both Eddie Brock and the symbiote were entirely single-minded – any disagreements they might have had over their feeding habits was temporarily forgotten as they registered just _ what _ in the world was enfolding right in front of their eyes.

What they saw made them see red.

Sandman stood over _ their _ Spider.

Everything about his body language screamed _ dominant_, as if he owned Parker.

Whatever his actual intentions were was irrelevant. They read it as a threat to what was their property.

Venom swung in, letting go of the web line at the apex of the arc and dropping like a stone toward their enemy, fangs bared in a snarl. Sandman responded by morphing his arm into a giant hammer of sand – how _ imaginative _ – but they were ready for him this time, oh yes. Several black, pulsing tendrils spun out from their bunched shoulders, racing toward the hammer to engulf it, seeking to absorb it into themselves. Sandman managed to recall his blow before they could, but they saw the beginnings of fear and doubt set in. Venom landed heavily on all fours and charged at the other, drooling tongue snaking through the air as they went to drive him off.

They won several yards between them and their contested territory of Parker before Sandman ground in his heels stubbornly and refused to budge another step backward.

"So what're ya? Sandman swirled out of reach of one of the seeking tendrils, reforming a sandy mouth. "A mutie like everyone else in this town?"

A mutant? They gave a hissing, derisive laugh. Venom risked a glance over his shoulder. Spider-man was still out-cold lying where Sandman dropped him, with Venom planted between them.

"We're collecting," Venom hissed. "And we're also in a nice, cozy _ killing _ mood today, so we hope you brought plenty of humans with you to keep us company."

"Sick fuck, aren't ya?"

A fang-filled, humorless grin. "We try."

"Too bad we're gunning on opposite sides, eh?"

"We're not on anyone's side,'' Venom began, cutting himself off. He had a split second to notice the glint over Sandman's shoulder right before his spider-sense began ringing. Reacting on instinct, Venom bounded out of the way, a small _ ping _ betraying the tranquilizer hitting the pavement right where his hand had been seconds before.

Sandman reformed a few meters away, scowling as he glanced over his shoulder. "Silver bitch just don't wait, does she?" he paused, listening to something in his ear. "Yes, I'd like to keep my nuts intact, thanks. It'd help, y'know, if you _ wait _ on cuttin' them off until after the job."

He turned around.

"Oh, shi-"

Venom's claw impacted with his face: Sandman's head billowed out back with a violent spray of sand, his whole skull dissolving. Reacting instinctively, Sandman slung out with a left hook, catching only air as Venom ducked.

Unfortunately, that brought him face to face with the flash bang grenade that rolled in between Sandman's feet, coming to an innocent stop before erupting with a deafening, blinding explosion of light and sound.

Venom reeled backward, their third set of eyelids slamming closed before the light could blind them any further. The harsh blast of sound was far worse, sending the oily symbiote covering roiling and bubbling like oil. They went down on all fours, hissing in agony and shaking their head. Another clink to the side. A smoke grenade went off, followed by the second flash bang going off at their feet – it was louder than before, sending physical pangs of pure agony piercing through their limbs. They were aware of something giving an angry, furious roar of defiance, and scrambling away from the spot, dimly aware of the greasy smoke surrounding them and cursing from Sandman.

The spider-sense went off. Left – no, right too!

_ All directions! _

Venom barreled out of the cloud of smoke, erupting with slobbering fangs bared, noted that there seemed to be a _ lot _ of guns pointed at him, and went for the closest. He was upon the armored human in a split second, punching through the flimsy armor and caving in his ribcage just as the others' guns discharged. The bullets squelched into Venom's back and bounced off as he threw the dying soldier to the ground. A part of them – the Eddie part – was relieved to find they apparently _ were _ bullet-proof. The part trying to keep them alive told him to _ shut up and concentrate _before they ended up swamped by reinforcements.

They turned, slung out a claw and a tentacle of their skin snapped off like a whip to wrap around the torso of one of the shooters. It constricted. A strangled, guttural scream and then a deliciously final _ snap_. The black-clad human collapsed to the ground like a wet sack of flour. Sensing a gap opening in the ring as his opponents spread out, Venom charged forward.

A woman stepped forward. Clad in some kind of white uniform, a gleaming curtain of silver hair fluttering in the breeze, she blocked his way. Venom assumed this was the "silver bitch" that Sandman mentioned earlier. She wasn't tall by any means but she stared him down with the cool expression of someone who was _ prepared_.

She was also shouldering what looked like a very big, very deadly rocket launcher.

Without a change in her expression, the silver woman fired. Venom braced for an impact.

What hit him was no ordinary round.

It tore through him just like a flash bang, multiplied a hundred fold and threw him sprawling backward. They slammed back into the steps of the Library with crushing force, forcing the air out of their lungs. The symbiote hurriedly began pumping in oxygen even as they struggled to breathe, wheezing, fangs parted and tongue lolling. The symbiote gave a pained twitch every few seconds, torn between wanting to rip apart every human here (with Silver Bitch and Sandman at the top of the list) and beating a retreat to lick its wounds while it still could. Venom looked up, saw Sandman suddenly arching up over them, his legs standing a good distance away, and saw that woman aiming her weapon in his direction.

One way or another, they'd have to take a hit.

Sandman reformed his arms into a basic club and slammed downward just as Silver Sable fired. Venom took the blow on the back of his head and his shoulders, crushed into the very foundation of the Library stairs and disappearing in a pile of rubble.

"_Christ_-!" Sandman recoiled as Silver Sable's shot passed through him and hit the walls with a deafening crack. "Watch where you're shootin'!"

"Just don't let him escape!"

So it wasn't the Spider they were after, Venom realized, too spent to remove himself from the miniature crater in the midst of the stairs. Parker was just bait, set out for a larger fish to try taking a bite of.

And now the hook was piercing the fish, too close for their liking.

That changed everything. Getting captured wasn't acceptable, and he weren't going to stick around despite his bloodlust. Much as he'd like to see Silver Bitch and Sandman lying in pools of blood and entrails, sometimes one just had to swallow one's pride and prioritize. _ Prioritizing _ said that they get out of here while they still could. He wasn't used to thinking of himself as actually vulnerable, but all it would take was knock him unconscious, and then he'd be at their mercy.

Venom played dead for a long minute, listening to the humans talking amongst themselves about a _ parameter _ and a _ retrieval unit_, using the time to orient himself and trying to recall where Parker was. A few yards away, maybe. They most certainly couldn't leave him here, not when these two would love to use their property against them again. Venom's tongue ran slowly over his bloodied fangs, preparing himself and waiting for the pain tremors to die down from that hit earlier. One eye narrowed to a white slit, Venom spotted Spider-man. The superhero was lying right where he'd been dropped, half on his side with an arm pinned under him, presenting a wonderful view of his perfectly toned ass. The suit might as well not be there.

_ The mating is _ too _ close_, Venom thought, furious to realize they had sexual urges despite the circumstances. This had to be the worst mating site possible and yet here he was, about to have what Eddie Brock called a _ raging mad hardon _ even though they could very well be captured and carted off by whoever hired their attackers.

"You think he's out?" Sandman's gravely voice asked nearby.

"Never can be sure with these mutant types," his female partner said. "He didn't seem to like my USW cannon."

"_I _ didn't like your USW."

"Then don't get in its arc of fire next time."

"I had him."

"This isn't a contest, Marko. It's a job. I like to make sure the target's incapacitated than worry about who gets points for taking him down."

A grunt. "You always this crazy?"

"Part and parcel of the job - you over there, hurry up with the containment cage and the _ verg_!"

"Verg?"

"VRG vortex ring gun. Payment from my last job. The government hasn't even finished developing them yet. We didn't know this mutant of yours was bulletproof, so I brought two _ vergs _ as insurance. They accelerate pressurized gas at high speeds: we've laced these ones with some incapacitating agents strong enough to drop just about anything elephant sized and smaller. I doubt we can penetrate his skin with the typical tranquilizers."

Venom risked tilting his head up to get a better view. The humans were scurrying about back and forth between several black vans toward the Silver Bitch, her back turned momentarily as she went to retrieve her precious _ vergs_. A few feet away, Spider-man groaned softly, slowly regaining consciousness. _ Stop moving, idiot_, Venom thought angrily. _ You'll draw attention to us! _

Obviously telepathy wasn't one of their talents. Spider-man squirmed a bit more and moaned louder. Sandman – Marko, they had a name – glanced over.

Venom did his best road kill impression.

Seeing no immediate threat, Marko glanced back at his female companion. Venom's white eyes opened again, the symbiote's third eyelid nictitating sideways as their jaws parted, carefully ejecting the symbiote's translucent green slime – what passed for blood – from their throat and onto the cracked pavement with inaudible slopping noises. If Venom was going to escape, he wasn't going to do it choking on his own blood. They had more dignity than that.

A small tendril oozed out from their palm, snaking out slowly toward Spider-man. It connected with his back, inched his way over his ribs and back down over the smooth planes of his stomach until they were sure they had a good hold of him. A careful glance around. Most of the humans were collected in the open ground, with none he could see in the actual Library, obviously thinking it was a dead end.

They thought wrong.

Venom heaved himself up, snapping the tendril back to him and feeling the comforting weight of their Spider fall into their arms. He caught sight of the Silver Bitch turned with what looked like a rifle merged with a cannon and shout:

"Don't let him get away!"

They made a break for it, clutching the limp weight of Spider-man to their chest and bounding toward the dark recesses of the Library's lobby, the dust from the debris still floating in their air. They were about to crash through the door when Venom heard a very odd, very low sound incoming. There wasn't an explosion, no flash of light, yet he felt like he'd been punched _ hard _ in the back with an ice pick, hard enough that it felt like their spine would snap. Agony. They hit the heavy interior doors and ripped them off the hinges, lurching forward and just barely managed to remain standing, stumbling and scrambling for purchase on rubbery legs.

It seemed like a good idea to just lie down. Rest a bit.

But the pounding of pursuing feet made that impossible.

Working more on instinct than anything else, Venom snapped up a wrist and shot forth a line of web, pulling himself up into the air with a single motion to go crashing against the second floor window of the lobby. Shattered glass sparkled around them. He was startled to find his breaths were coming in ragged, wheezing pants, and knew it wasn't from the shot alone. That silver human - _ that bitch _ – had laced it with something, hadn't she? Yes, they remembered her saying something…she'd laced her weapon with something, because the _ verg _ didn't shoot the typically ineffective bullets. Bullets didn't cause this much pain. Bullets also didn't have this feeling of _ something _ inside them, running through their very veins, and slowly but surely invading their shared nervous system.

Sedatives?

Animal tranqs.

The next few minutes seemed to be a blur to Venom, merging into one another with only brief flashes of reality; a glimpse of a window, a wall coming perilously close, the fading sound of sirens, and eventually the sense of it all sinking away. A kind of deadly numbness settled into their bones. The only thing that seemed to remain a constant was the solid feel of Spider-man's warm body pressed up against theirs, one of his toned arms hooked about loosely around their neck, his head resting against their chest. He still hadn't quite regained consciousness and Venom wasn't even sure how long _ he _ would be conscious.

A few minutes. Maybe.

Venom was distantly aware of swinging himself into up onto a ledge and scrambling over the brick wall of some kind of dingy playground, closed off for demolition, before he finally fell to his knees, Spider-man dropping with a thud from slack claws onto dusty gravel. Wheezing, Venom struggled to breathe, his tongue lolling out between fangs, eyes hooded as he pushed himself to his feet, staggered back toward the wall a distance away, and leaned heavily against it. Just a minute to catch their breath. The Spider would be fine, and what was more, he wasn't in Sandman's possession.

Just a minute was all they needed.

Sliding down into a sitting position, Venom slumped over. He heard someone gasping for air and it took a few long, confused seconds to realize it was _ him_.

Just a minute…

X

"Ugh…"

Spider-man groaned. Since when had he been fed through a cement mixer and spat out?

Another moan. Ouch. Ouchouch with another ouch on top of that.

_ Let's not do that again_, Spider-man thought. _ Owwwww. _

Being in this much pain probably wasn't a good thing, especially when his memory of how he came to be like this was all muddled. All he remembered was trying to fight off Sand Dude and then….nothing. Just this buzzing in his head, which happened to be filled to the top with the very small cotton balls that seemed to be in his mouth. Dry, that was what it felt like. There really wasn't a better description for it aside from being really _ cotton bally_.

The next couple of long seconds he devoted to trying to push himself up seemed to stretch on forever, and Spider-man was ridiculously proud of himself when he _ did _ finally manage to sit up. Bits and pieces of what happened were starting to come back. The fight had ended up at the Library, with Sand Dude hot on his heels, hadn't it? For some reason he remembered the sensation of compressed air against his skin and something pricking him through his costume – like a needle or something. Kinda reminded him of that time Aunt May took him to get his wisdom teeth removed, actually. _ Not _ fun.

_ Where am I, anyway? _

Glancing around before him, it was pretty obvious this wasn't the Library: there were a few rusted jungle gyms and seesaws that were probably death traps waiting to happen in the distance, with browning weeds scattered across the lot and a few sparse trees here and there. He couldn't imagine how in the world he could possibly have made it from the Library to here (wherever _ here _ was), and anyway, he would've liked to think he could have picked a place with better cover. Spider-man cradled his head, nursing it for a moment as he tried to control the urge to just be gloriously sick all over the ground. There was no _ way _ he was throwing up with his mask on.

Spider-man sat up and rested his head between his knees, waiting for the nausea to pass. Definitely on par with getting wisdom teeth removed.

After a few minutes he thought he'd be fit to stand. While standing up looked daunting, considering how hard it had been to sit up, he knew he couldn't just sit here and wait for Sand Dude and his buddies to find him. What had that been all about anyway? _ I didn't even see him that time_, Spider-man thought, closing his eyes and waiting for the pavement between his feet to stop spinning. _ I was just minding my own business. I could've sworn he came after _ me _ this time. _ It almost felt like he had been targeted, especially when he finally remembered that he _ had _ been shot with something before that big blank in his memory. Was it about his secret identity?

Spider-man wobbled but managed proudly to remain standing, concentrating and concentrating _ hard _ on keeping his legs under him. They seemed to want to have the consistency of Jell-O. _ Okay, easy does it. Baby steps, right_? He turned around and suddenly paused, stiffening, as he saw what was behind him. _ Oh my God. _

There was a body of a blond-haired man a few feet away, slumped up against the wall in a half-sitting position, and not moving, his face obscured from the way his head rested on his chest. There wasn't any clothing on him, which was alarming in itself. Spider-man had seen a lot more than just about any kids his age, but finding naked dead people lying about wasn't one of those things. Hesitantly he took a step, and then another over, deciding to be cautious.

"Hey?" he said. "Sir, are you okay? Or, uh, alive? Please, please tell me you're alive."

No answer. _ Okay, don't panic. Could just be unconscious. Absolutely _ no _ need to freak out, Peter. You've faced Norman Osbourne: you can handle this. If he's…not alive, then you can just call the police. _

Feeling a bit braver, but still somewhat apprehensive (hopefully this man _ really _ wasn't dead), Spider-man closed the distance and crouched down, laying a hand on the man's shoulder. Warm still. Careful not to move the body, he touched his fingers to his neck, and breathed an audible sigh of relief. Still had a pulse. It was labored, but it was there, at least. While he felt like a steamroller had run over him for kicks, Spider-man knew he couldn't just leave this poor guy here in good conscience just because _ he _ didn't feel up to it.

It was when he got a good look at the man's face that he started having second thoughts.

Eddie Brock!

"Oh jeez!"

Spider-man back peddled frantically with a sharp gasp.

Suddenly panicking uncontrollably looked like a pretty good idea, and he was just about to turn and get out of there when that annoying conscience kicked in again.

Slowly he turned around, cringing, and stared at the unconscious man, hands on his slim hips as he bit his lip. Despite the fact he knew Brock hated him, nevermind the fact he was host to a crazy oil slick from space who _ also _ hated him, Spider-man just couldn't shake the feeling that leaving him here wasn't the right thing to do. It was probably the safest, but it wasn't the right thing to do and he wasn't _ that _ big a big fat jerk to leave the guy out here without even any clothes.

At least he really _ did _ look unconscious, Spider-man reflected, bending down again and examining Brock. His eyes were closed, but there were dark spots under them, as if he hadn't been getting very much sleep recently. His lips were cracked, and slightly parted as he breathed, and he looked deceptively harmless, as if he was just sleeping. There didn't seem to be any blood or even any bruises, no sign of any kind of struggle aside from the thin sheen of sweat covering his body.

"What're you doing out here, Brock?" Spider-man muttered, uneasy. Why would Brock of all people be lying in the middle of nowhere, naked (he was still young enough to be flustered by it, and blushed), _ and _ unconscious? "Where's the symbiote?"

Maybe it gave up. Ditched Brock and decided to call it quits, maybe try to go somewhere else. Spider-man couldn't really see that as being very plausible, but he was willing to hope. At any rate, he wasn't going to leave Brock here. Hoping that the former reporter wasn't just faking being unconscious, Spider-man bent down and carefully draped a limp arm over his shoulders, hoisting them up as he made sure he had a good grip on the man. Brock was far heavier than he looked, Spider-man realized, giving an annoyed grunt. _ At least he's not trying to pop my head off_, he thought, trying to be positive.

_ I'm probably going to regret this for life. If I knew you would care, Brock, I'd totally say you owe me for this _

X

Apparently trying to explain what you were doing holding an unconscious, naked guy was a lot harder than it looked.

At least the cop in the emergency room lobby _ wasn't _ shooting at him or trying to arrest him (or both). Spider-man decided he liked Officer April already.

"So you found this John Doe in some kind of park?" the female police officer frowned. "No signs of a struggle?"

Spider-man shook his head. He just wanted to go home, but he had to answer what questions he could. "Not that I could see. I…just thought something looked suspicious, so I swung down and there he was. That's how he was like when I found him there."

"Right…you _ do _ know this looks highly suspect?"

He sighed. "Lady, you don't know the half of it," he muttered under his breath.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Nothing, it's not important," Spider-man said, waving it away. "Look, I'm kind of worried about him. Is there any way to keep tabs on him?"

The cop raised an eyebrow at this. "We're not supposed to release any personal information, especially not to masked vigilantes such as yourself. I'm sorry, but that's how it is. Off the record, I admit I think what you're doing is a good thing for New York," April added, lowering her voice, and offering a tight-lipped smile. "We could use more people like you."

"I…uh…thanks, I guess."

"Still, good guy or not, I can't allow you access. I'm sorry. I'm sure his family and friends will appreciate what you did, but you'll have to let ER take it from here."

April made as if to go back toward the counter, and then seemed to think better of it, turning back toward Spider-man and clapping him on the shoulder.

"Don't worry about him, Spider-man. They can take care of him. We'll find out who he is and get him back to his loved ones as soon as possible."

_ That's what I'm worried about. _ Behind his mask, Spider-man frowned nervously. Maybe Brock would wake up and decide to change his ways, rethink the whole let's-kill-Spidey plan and try to live a normal life that didn't involve killing and Peter Parker. Would he flip out when he found himself here? Spider-man hoped not. Brock hadn't been in the most stable state of mind last time he'd seen him several months ago, but maybe he chilled out since then. _ You don't _ know _ though. _ It could be just wishful thinking and he knew he'd have to stake this place out and make sure Brock didn't hurt any of the civilians here.

Great, Spider-man sighed inwardly. This probably meant he had to actually visit the man. As if school and a job weren't enough.

Officer April nodded toward the doors. "You should probably leave now. It won't be good for you if you stick around."

Ouch.

"Point taken. Thanks for the help, officer."

That went a lot better than expected, all things considering. His head still felt funky and his body tingly and just plain _ weird_, but he wasn't getting pummeled by Sand Dude, and he at least knew where Brock was. That and he wasn't being chased out of the ER as if he was some kind of criminal, so he had to admit that things went… _ well_, surprisingly. It was kind of nice to be able to exit the scene with some dignity.

Still wasn't looking forward to that visit though.

X

Humans were funny, bizarre little creatures. For example, sometimes in their night cycles they had mental fantasies that played in their brains like their primitive movies, often for hours at a time. Often they were nonsensical, with no apparent beginning or end until the human in question suddenly woke up disoriented and confused. Eddie Brock said they were "dreams" and that everyone did it. From the symbiote's point of view, it was a miracle humans even evolved this far, considering they spent their night cycles in such a useless and vulnerable fashion.

There didn't seem to be a set purpose for these "dreams" as far as the symbiote knew, only that they happened and couldn't be controlled. Usually they were utter nonsense, figments from the strange human imagination, and it was then that the symbiote tuned it out as irrelevant and distracting. While they were indeed bonded, there was really no way to shut off what was inconvenient and so it had to put up with its host's mental activities even when he was unconscious.

Eddie Brock was dreaming now. It had taken some time to recover from the sedatives that silver human injected them with, but the host was at the moment sleeping calmly, after suffering the bewildered surprise of finding himself in the emergency room with no recollection as to how he'd gotten there. The female police officer that greeted him made the mistake of clarifying: Spider-man found him unconscious somewhere and rescued him. And now he was safe, she added, so he should get some rest because she had questions she needed to ask tomorrow, both about himself and if he knew Spider-man.

Eddie Brock didn't dream of Spider-man, although the thought of the Spider they lusted for always lingered.

No, he dreamt of Peter Parker. He dreamt of the day when he first met the boy….

X

_ He's just a kid, _ was Eddie Brock's first thought. Way too young to even be considering professional journalism. He was what, fifteen? Sixteen? Not even in college yet! _ He _ hadn't even started thinking about college at that age, much less what he planned to do afterward. While Eddie could see why having someone computer-savvy around - as this Peter Parker was supposed to be – could be useful, he didn't see what that had to do with him being told he could start trailing the real reporters around. While he hadn't met him yet, he still was leery about the whole idea. It seemed like a waste of time to him.

The important thing was that Jameson didn't seem to think so.

"Take a seat, Eddie," Jameson said, waving at one of the chairs.

Eddie sat down and tried futilely to get comfortable. The man had some of the hardest chairs he'd ever sat in, and even seemed to take relish in it, watching his employee fidget and chewing his cigar. Eddie was convinced those things would kill him someday.

Or try, anyway. Jameson was a hardass through and through. It would take more than a bunch of pussy cigars to kill _ him_.

"Boss, I just don't know about all this," Eddie began, frowning. "I can cover the Quentin Beck conference on my own."

Jameson rounded his desk, but didn't sit down. He liked to stand while those in his office sat – gave him a sense of power and was a small reminder of what the hierarchy was.

"Parker's coming with you."

The blond refused to give up. "You just said he only maintains the Bugle website. I just don't see why your programmer needs to tag along with me on a beat. I think I can handle a simple conference."

"He's coming whether you like it or not," Jameson said, staring the journalist straight in the eye. "He should have some first hand experience with what we do here. It'll give him a better outlook on his work on our site. From his poor attendance record, you'd think he didn't take his job seriously."

Eddie fumed quietly. He didn't think his boss was saying he was a bad journalist, necessarily, but it still felt that way all the same. It wasn't a good feeling either, not when he took very real pride in his abilities and his work. He put everything into his job here at the Bugle, and not just because he was newly married: he honestly thought he could do some real good with reporting. It felt _ right _ to be here, working for Jameson and working for the _ Daily Bugle_.

"I hope you're not asking me to baby-sit him," said Eddie.

"It's not a question of asking. I'm _ telling _ you to."

Eddie shook his head. "I guess there's no changing your mind, is there?"

"Not really, no."

Christ. There was no working around it then. He'd just have to suck it up and deal with the kid dogging his heels for the day, Eddie supposed. It wasn't that long anyway. It would be an exercise of his patience, but Anne said he could improve in that area to begin with. His wife was right. Seemed kind of stupid to get so caught up over whether or not a kid he hadn't even met yet tagged along and took notes.

"Okay," said Eddie. "I'll try to do what I can. I just hope he doesn't follow so close that I trip over him."

Jameson broke into one of his typically fierce grins: it looked more like a snarl hooded by his mustache than anything friendly, but Eddie could tell he was pleased. "That's the spirit, Eddie."

Eddie checked his watch. "So where is this Parker anyway? Isn't he supposed to be here by now?"

The head editor heaved an annoyed sigh. "Fucked if I know."

"Not very professional, is he?"

"Flaky as hell, actually," Jameson admitted. "Not a _ complete _ moron like kids are these days, but he's an idiot when priorities are concerned."

That didn't sound very promising. Eddie wondered why the kid was even still working at the Bugle if he was this late consistently. Surely he'd run out of excuses or Jameson or Robbie would call him out on it. The Quentin Beck conference was _ today_, and while reasonably close, he still wanted to scope out the place, maybe see if he could nab an exclusive with Beck himself. Waiting for Parker to show up was only delaying the chance of that happening.

It was another ten minutes before he _ did _ show, rushing into the office half out of breath.

"I'm s-sorry I'm late," the boy said, trying to catch his breath. "E-emergency with my aunt's, um, allergies."

"_Again_?" Jameson sounded incredulous. He made a cutting motion with his hand. "Nevermind! Peter Parker, this is Eddie Brock. You've kept us waiting."

Eddie stood up and faced Parker, sizing him up. Peter Parker was shorter than he, but could potentially put on a growth spurt. Despite his state of clothing (part of his work shirt was untucked), he had that wiry look of someone who was either an acrobat or who spent a good portion of his life running from school bullies. Looking at the kid, Eddie decided it was probably the latter: something about Parker just screamed _ bully material_, he thought, feeling some sympathy for the kid. Probably explained why he was so interested in a respectable job like the Bugle, although Eddie was of the mind that Peter needed to clean up his act if he did. For starters, cutting that shaggy, mousy brown hair. It wasn't hippie length, but it was long enough that it looked like Parker didn't care too much about his appearances.

One of the things he would have to learn was that appearances could make or break you in this job. It wasn't improbable that an exclusive with someone could turn sour if you didn't look or act professional and clean cut. At least he had a good complexion, his youthful face clear of noticeable blemishes.

Eddie held out his hand. Parker shook it enthusiastically. Eddie couldn't help wincing at the handshake, feeling as if the kid was crushing his fingers together.

Noticing this, Parker sheepishly let go. "Sorry, Eddie."

"It's okay," said Eddie, giving his hand a rueful shake. A person's handshake said loads about them, in his opinion. Despite Parker's appearances, it looked like self-confidence _ wasn't _ one of his problems. "Strong grip there."

"Got ahead of myself, I guess."

Jameson rolled his eyes. "We done with the pillow talk?" he demanded. "This's only a day deal, Parker. You'll accompany Eddie here for today and tonight. He'll be reporting on the Quentin Beck press conference at the Javits Convention Center about his next project, so you need to be on the ball." He shook an accusing finger at Parker. "No excuses. You _ need _ to be there on time and be Eddie's shadow. I want you glued to his hip and _ inseparable_."

"I will."

Jameson chewed on his cigar for a moment and then nodded. "Okay. I'll expect some good stuff when you both get back. We'll see how well you work together: maybe I'll like what I see, but I'm not getting my hopes up."

"John'll be there, right?" Eddie asked. He met Jameson's son once before, right before he left to go train to be an astronaut.

The head editor fairly glowed with pride. "You better believe it. If you can, get some pictures of him with Quentin Beck. Now go get in gear before they start the conference without you."

Eddie herded Parker out of his boss's office, feeling more like a babysitter than a journalist and not too happy at the hint that this might not be the last of it. They rode the elevator down together to the parking garage, Parker fidgeting with the mangy green backpack he'd run in with. Eddie glanced over, frowning.

"You know, you can leave that in my car if you want. You don't need your books where we're going."

Parker blinked and looked a bit nervous, giving that deer-in-the-headlights look. "Thanks, but I think I'm cool," he said, shouldering his backpack.

"Okay, lesson one, Parker," Eddie said, feeling for the teenager despite himself. "Appearances. We _ have _ to look professional where we're going and lugging in a backpack that looks like _ that _ is the first way to shoot that impression down."

Parker flushed. "I didn't know that."

"You should probably just leave it in my car. It'll be safe there: I just don't think you should bring it in is all I'm saying."

"Okay…I guess," Parker sounded mildly flustered. "I'll do that."

The drive to the Javits Center wasn't as awkward as he thought he would. It was out of habit of his job that he inquired about Parker's background, but the kid seemed more than happy to talk about his aunt and his friends, although he didn't seem to have much in the way of hobbies from what Eddie could tell. He seemed awfully vague about what he did in his free time, but Eddie chalked it up to a teenager thing. He'd gone through the same stage of feeling like what _ he _ did in _ his _ free time was his business alone.

Eddie focused on navigating the streets, but he didn't mind answering any of the questions Parker asked. Yes, he was married, and he really liked his job at the _ Daily Bugle_. He wouldn't trade it for the world. Yes, he did have to agree Jameson was hard, but that was what made him a good, focused employer, as far as he was concerned. Besides, he meant well even if he was a dick about it.

Parker gaped. "Did you mean that?"

"What?"

"You…uh, just called him a dick."

Eddie shrugged. "I'd be lying if I said he was all sunshine and rainbows. The truth is he _ can _ be a bit of a dick at times. Look at how he treats his vets. Like Robbie, for example."

Parker frowned, looking out the window at the pedestrians crossing the street in front of them. "I don't know…"

"I'm not saying he's a bad man, but obviously he was born without the connection in the brain between being nice and being tactful that the majority of humanity has," Brock pulled into the parking lot of the Javits Center, trying to find a spot, and concentrating. "I'm saying this and I _ like _ Jameson. Robbie's practically his best friend and even he has to agree."

"What was that about professionalism?" Parker quipped.

Eddie finally found a spot, and pulled in. He began rummaging in the back of the car for his camera and press pass, handing an extra one to Parker. "Ha, ha, funny. The difference is I _ respect _ Jameson and can understand that him being a dick's necessary for the job. He knows what he wants and gets things done. By the way, tuck in that shirt."

"Oops. Sorry."

Eddie led the way toward the entrance of the Lavits Center, Parker dogging his heels and trotting to catch up like a lost puppy. He'd done the smart thing and left his old green backpack in Eddie's car, although he had somehow scrounged up his own camera, and was now clutching it in his hands.

"You take pictures?" Eddie nodded toward the camera. "I thought you were just a programmer."

Parker offered a shy grin. "I sometimes do. I managed to take a few pictures of Spider-man for Jameson."

Eddie almost missed a step at this. _ He _ had been trying to get a picture of Spider-man for several weeks and here a mere fifteen year old did what he couldn't! Knowing this rankled a bit, actually, especially when it felt like he'd been upstaged somehow. "That's incredible," Eddie managed, swallowing. "I've been trying to do the same thing. Spider-man's really hard to catch on camera. It's like he's got some weird sixth sense if you even so much as _ point _ one at him."

Parker gave an embarrassed cough. "It's just Parker luck, that's all. I just got lucky and he didn't see me."

"So what do you like better, photography or programming?" Eddie asked.

"Photography," Parker replied. "But it's not as steady compared to programming."

By now they had reached the doors, the lobby already crowded with the press from various news stations and papers. Eddie showed his badge at the door, craning his head and trying to see if there was anyone he could recognize. All of the major news stations were there, and he even saw some correspondents from the _ Daily Globe_. Eddie scowled at this. Not them again. He'd heard all about their shady tactics and wanted no part in it, not even when they offered far better pay than the _ Daily Bugle _ to entice him to defect. Jameson might be a dick, as he'd told Parker, but Brock happened to be _ loyal _ to said dick. Hoping the throng of press was chaotic enough that the Globe correspondents wouldn't see him, Eddie turned to Parker:

"I don't know if you know anything about Quentin Beck, but he's apparently going to be huge in Hollywood," he said. "Some kind of big special effects guy, but he's also got a bit of a criminal track record, which explains the mob here. You bet half of them wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the juicy details of his past life."

Parker glanced around as if hoping to see Beck himself.

"Criminal track record? Why would it be such a big deal?"

"In the eighties he tried robbing a bunch of big department stores. The final count was something like ten of them," Eddie paused, "Failed each time, but you have to admit the guy was persistent. Anyway, the story is he turned over a new leaf and decided he’d rather work the movie business as a legit. Don't ask me how he got off so easily. He used his, ah, infamy to get funds and such for this mystery project. That and apparently he's also very much against the whole masked vigilante deal," he added offhandedly.

"How come?"

Looking around, Eddie realized that exclusive with Beck would have to wait. "Remember that string of robberies? And getting bagged for each one? A superhero did the bagging each and every time. I heard this conference might have something to do with his anti-vigilante view."

"Oh," Parker said, looking troubled.

"_Welcome to the Conference_," a well-dressed woman said, speaking through a megaphone, voice tinny. "_Thank you for being here. If you will please follow me this way, we can begin filling the room and Mr. Beck will be begin_."

Eddie began pushing his way through the crowd, motioning for the kid to follow him. If he was going to have to shout questions and try to get some good pictures, he'd rather do it from the front row than trying to do it in the back like an idiot who _ didn't _ think it proper reporter behavior to elbow your way to the front and get the money shots. The crowd filed into the conference room, which looked closer to a theater than anything else, the "stage" elaborate and framed on each side by thick, rich, royal blue curtains. Eddie positioned himself slightly off to the side, next to a WNBC tripod, careful not to jostle the expensive equipment. Not exactly the center (the _ Daily Globe _ beat him there), but close enough.

"Press conferences like this usually will have a Q and A session afterward," Eddie said to Peter, "Beck will most likely be introduced by someone and then he'll have his say. Basically we just sit through it and take pictures until the Q and A. Sometimes they'll be nice and organized, but there's a chance it could be a free-for-all with people just yelling them out. Just look sharp and it should be fine."

Eddie fell silent as the same woman from before mounted the stage, a bright spotlight following her. It seemed rather dramatically over the top, but he supposed it fit with Quentin Beck's profile.

"Thank you for coming, associated press. Quentin Beck, a native of Modesto, California, is glad to be in New York, and will be happy to field any questions or comments after the presentation. He hopes that you will give him your full attention and consider his words: he is confident that you will all agree with the specific points of his presentation."

The woman held out a hand, sweeping it behind her.

"I give you…Mr. Beck!"

The lights dimmed further, the female aide stepping aside into the darkness as all eyes turned to the front. Brock raised an eyebrow as bright green smoke effects began to flood the stage, resembling nothing more than a bank of soupy fog rolling in from the right. It slowly overtook the front of the stage and oozed down, flowing around the crowd's ankles. _ Theatrics_. Eddie sighed. At least all he had to do was report objectively on this. _ Subjectively _ he thought this was way over the top and utterly inane. Next to him, Parker gave a startled sniff, as if smelling something weird, and clapped a hand over his nose. Eddie ignored him, watching the stage.

There was a flash like lightning; a fountain of more smoke – blue, this time - flared up in the middle of the stage, backlit by the light and illuminating the figure of a man suddenly standing there. As the blue smoke billowed and dissipated into those closest, the man stepped forward and bowed.

"I am Quentin Beck," Beck said. Eddie couldn't help the beginnings of an incredulous smirk. Was he wearing a _ cape_? "And I have a message today that I think you will find it most imperative to spread to greater New York."

He then began to ramble on about some kind of movie, as well as some kind of invention that would "revolutionize' the world of entertainment for a good half hour. In the middle of it he suddenly launched into a tirade against "the costumed anti-heroes" of the world and how everyone was better off without them. Eddie took mental notes, knowing Jameson would eat up this business about anti-superheroes and love it. It was when Beck launched into the specifics of New York's superheroes and how he would turn New York against them that Eddie noticed one of two things:

For some reason he felt really weird. Lightheaded. Tipsy, even.

Was he imagining it or was the room starting to tilt pleasantly?

And second, where was Parker?

Eddie felt nice and heavy, a bit drowsy (though he couldn't understand why, considering he'd run through several Red Bulls on the way to the Bugle offices), and it seemed somehow right to just turn back to Beck and listen to his rather lovely speech. And it suddenly _ did _ seem to be a good speech, even though in the back of Eddie's mind he knew it to be utterly ridiculous and chock full of logical fallacies. But somehow he couldn't muster up the ability to care.

"And now we have Spider-man," Beck was saying, gazing out over the increasingly glassy faces of the press in front of him. For some reason he was now wearing a fishbowl on his head, Eddie noticed, and thought it was the most handsome, shiniest thing he'd ever seen in his life.

Beck continued to scold the silent room, shaking a finger as one would at a child: "You allow him to run across your beautiful city and yet he preys on the everyday man in the name of help where it isn't needed. For shame, New York. For shame….but now I will be there to help you, beautiful New York, to be rid of this menace. He will be an example to all other masked vigilantes out there. I aim to kill him, you see," Beck smiled benignly. "And I think you all should help me, starting with you, the associated press."

Eddie found himself agreeing without knowing why. He meant to turn to Parker and asked if _ he _ agreed with these rather salient points when he suddenly remembered the kid had vanished. What was it Jameson said? _ I want you glued to his hip and inseparable_. No excuses.

That applied to Eddie too, didn't it?

Parker was his responsibility.

Concern flooded into the blond, dashing away for the moment the feeling of utter contentment and faith in the speech. Where _ was _ Parker? Now that he wasn't entirely focused on Beck, he found himself growing increasingly worried, and baffled as to why his body seemed to not want to obey him. It felt like he was about to faint only he was still awake, treading the edge of awareness. Confused by his lethargy and starting to feel decidedly alarmed without being able to say exactly what was wrong, Brock began to push through the other, unresisting reporters, scanning the crowd for Parker's mess of shaggy brown hair.

He wasn't here. _ Peter _ wasn't here! Eddie staggered forward, forgetting about Beck and his far-too-attractive fishbowl head.

"Aim to kill me? Might want to step in line, pal."

Eddie turned at the alien sound of a voice that _ wasn't _ Beck's hypnotic one, and froze, swaying and feeling like he was about to tilt over with the way the room was spinning and turning. The owner of the voice was a blue and red costumed form, wiry and leanly muscled, and currently perched impossibly on the ceiling. Upside down.

Spider-man.

The superhero dropped from the ceiling and landed neatly in a crouch on a camera tripod a few meters from Beck.

"I'm probably going to sound really, really stupid, but I've got to ask," Spider-man said. "Is that a _ fishbowl _ on your head?"

Beck – if that was even Beck, he wasn't dressed like him at all aside from the purple cape – stepped away from the podium, his cape swirling at armored ankles. "So you finally showed up."

"You the next big bad supervillian, Mysterio? It's kind of hard to take you seriously with that on your head, you know," Spider-man quipped.

Beck flared, his hands glowing red. "My name isn't 'Mysterio', you insolent brat!"

Spider-man tapped a finger to his chin. "I don't know, I rather like Mysterio. It's got a great ring to it - Jeez, everyone's a critic!" he jumped out of the way of a fireball that singed the curtain behind him, landing right next to Beck and going right up to the glass dome covering his head. "Don't tell me you came to kick my butt all the way from California and you didn't even think of a _ name_?"

Another fireball, easily dodged with a flip backward, and then Mysterio turned toward the crowd of enthralled reporters, pointing his still smoking gauntlets at them. Spider-man stopped.

"How would you like to fight several hundred, Spider-man?" Mysterio demanded. "New York already hates you. I'm sure these fine people would like to show you their hate up close at my word. Or maybe you would like to just see them fry rather than fight them all? That gas you see around them just so happens to be highly flammable, and I imagine they would be quite happy to burn as they rend you limb from limb."

That gave Spider-man pause. His shoulders slumped in defeat. "So what is it you really want?"

"I want you. You will hand yourself over to me and I will unmask you for the fraud you are in public. I want everyone to know that masked freaks like you are blights on society and normal, hard-working people!"

Spider-man hung his head and then slowly held out his arms. "Okay, you win, Beck. Just…just don't hurt all these people."

"So even you can see reason," Mysterio sniffed. Reaching into the podium, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs and approached Spider-man with them. Eddie couldn't help but watch, unable to turn away. There was something strange about Spider-man, like he'd met him before, and it had something to do with that insanely _ young _ voice. But the thought sank into the lethargy and Eddie only had the strength to try to push toward the stage, every now and then sagging against another unresponsive body as he wobbled on feet that weren't his.

Mysterio was almost at Spider-man, his back straight and triumphant.

Spider-man continued to hold out his hands as Mysterio slapped on the first end of the heavy duty handcuffs onto his wrist, the superhero's face tilted toward the left green armored gauntlet. "Hey, I just want to say something real quick, if it's okay with you."

"What?"

Spider-man looked up, his webbed mask mirrored in Mysterio's helmet.

"You know what I think? I think you're a big fat _ fake_!" Spider-man ripped his hands free and lunged for the other man.

"You-!"

Mysterio slammed up against the wall with an audible crack of thick glass meeting brick. A section of it continued to fracture and fell away from the dome, tinkling, and revealing the face of the man underneath. Spider-man leaned close, holding him up easily several feet from the floor by the front of his reinforced shirt

"Next time you showboat, make sure you've got real weapons to use against me! Your gauntlets don't shoot anything but smoke, Mysterio!"

Beck struggled to break free, eyes blazing with fury. "Are you sure you want to be threatening me, brat? The reporters out there will do what I say – that was no bluff."

"I'll take my chances," Spider-man returned. "Since your big scary fireballs weren't so scary after all, just fancy pyrotechnics."

"Kill h-"

A gloved fist hammered into the rest of the glass, shattering it, and impacted with Beck's face. "Yeah, let's not." Spider-man let go of the unconscious man, dropping him unceremoniously to the ground with an audible thunk. There was a loud _ whoosh _ and Beck's right gauntlet abruptly lit up, sending a very real flamethrower's gout up into the curtains and setting them alight.

"Oops," said Spider-man.

Eddie's head didn't feel any clearer and his body was still torn between reviving and passing out, but he was _ pretty _ sure the theater suddenly being on fire was a bad thing.

That "oops" hadn't been very encouraging either.

Spider-man shouted to the dazed crowd. "Everyone please head to the exits in an orderly fashion if you can! And by fashion, I mean _ just get out of here_!"

The throng of reporters dissolved into a panicked frenzy as some of them began snapping out of their daze, staggering drunkenly this way and that, bumping into another and tripping over each other and camera equipment. Smoke – real smoke – began to billow into the room as Eddie sought to fight his way through the reporters and correspondents streaming past him in a disorganized stampede, the room swirling in a way that wasn't at all pleasant, as it was earlier, and was now just nauseating. He had to find Parker. The thought kept circling in his head. Parker was _ his _ responsibility and he wasn't going to disappoint Jameson.

After what seemed like eternity between his own body's weakness and the oily black smoke darkening the room, Eddie reached the stage, where Spider-man was throwing the unconscious Mysterio over his shoulder.

"Spider-man!" Eddie slurred.

The superhero jerked up in surprise, almost tossing Mysterio back onto the floor. "Eddie!"

Eddie bulldozed over the fact Spider-man somehow knew his name. It seemed like a passing curiosity; he was preoccupied with just trying to keep that webbed mask in focus since it was so determined to swim dizzily in his vision. "I…'s a kid. Peter Parker. Gotta…gotta find 'im."

Spider-man seemed to relax. "I'll find him. You just get outside, okay?"

The blond shook his head. Spider-man wasn't understanding, dammit. The kid was still out there and he couldn't be expected to know what he looked like. He was just saying that to get Eddie out of here and didn't understand he wasn't going anywhere without the kid in sight and in tow. Spider-man didn't understand that it was Eddie's job to look out after Parker and make sure he got back to Jameson in one piece.

Eddie decided to go look for Parker himself, and had even turned to leave when his body finally made up its mind and said _ screw this, we're done for now_, and promptly pitched him backward into nothingness.

"_Breathe, Eddie_!"

The next thing he was aware of was a sensation of swimming, only it wasn't his body doing it, it was his brain and it was pretty damn weird to have your brain swimming in what looked more like a thick pool of oil than anything else. It was really hard to breathe too, his chest constricting as something pressed up and down on it in a steady pumping motion. It felt an awful lot like a fist, now that he thought about it. What was a fist doing hammering away at his chest? Even stranger was the feeling of _ someone _ bending close to his numbed face, pinching his nose (which made it even harder to breathe, in Eddie's opinion), tilting back his head, and pressing their mouth to his.

Air rushed into his lungs with the contact. His chest expanded. The mouth didn't taste particularly good – like ashes, as if something was burning – but it gave him the priceless ability to breathe.

Even on the unconscious level, Eddie was hungry for the next contact.

"Come on, _ breathe_," a grunt, as someone returned their attention back to pumping urgently up and down on his chest. "I know you can do it, Eddie! You had the guts to call Jameson a dick, so how's a stupid little fire going to stop you? Breathe for me now, come _ on_."

His vision swam into some focus as the giver of air bent down again after pumping at his chest for a bit. His closed eyelids briefly flickered. For a delirious second, Eddie caught a glimpse of a mask, red and ribbed with black webs, pulled up just over someone's nose and revealing a strong, young jaw and firm lips that were soon pressed over his and breathing for him. When that warm mouth closed over his slack one, and shared the precious air, it seemed _ right_, and a basic, instinctual part of him was glad to take, greedy for more.

_ Needing _ more.

Suddenly he could feel his lungs doing what they were supposed to be doing in the first place and breathing for him. A choking cough wracked his frame as he sucked in his first breath for himself, gasping, eyes closed, and still walking that fine line between consciousness and oblivion. Eddie felt his body lift from the ground as he struggled to take in more fresh air, feeling it pierce into his lungs and yet desperately gulping more. It tasted of the same ashes as the giver's lips. Eddie's hand shot out and grabbed onto something, _ anything_, with a deathgrip. A hand closed over his.

"He's okay now," Spider-man's voice floated above him. "I think he needs space, so let's give it to him, people."

The hand withdrew. As he sucked in trembling breaths that grew increasingly stronger, Eddie became gradually aware of other voices around him, the painful wail of sirens, and a bizarre sound like a waterfall in the distance. Someone dropped down next to him and began softly slapping his cheek with a warm hand; gentle taps, really, but they guided him back to consciousness all the same.

"Come on, Eddie," Spider-man pleaded. "Come on, you can do it."

Eddie's gray eyes drifted open, and the world around him slowly wavered back into focus, with blurs resolving into shapes and finally into things he could actually recognize. He noted with dazed surprise that it wasn't Spider-man, like he'd thought, at his side, but gawky, clueless Peter Parker peering down at him with those utterly average brown eyes of his. For some reason Brock's eyes slid down from the kid's worried, soot-streaked face to his shirt and almost smiled, seeing a glimpse of red and blue, and not registering its implications:

"Y-your shirt's untucked," Eddie rasped.

Parker broke out into a relieved grin that lit up his dirty face even as he hurriedly tucked it back in. "You're okay! I was really worried about you."

Eddie gave another cough, his head starting to clear: _ you, _ it said, _ are in really crappy shape right now_. "You made it out? How?"

"Spider-man," Parker said quickly. "He found me and took me out of there. He said you were looking for me."

The blonde resolved to just lie there for a while. The pavement under his back didn't feel too good, but he was more than happy to relish the idea of simply _ breathing _ again. "What's going on?" Eddie asked, disoriented. "The last thing I remember is…" he trailed off helplessly. Not much. What he did remember was the curtains _ on fire _ and that ominous "oops".

Parker glanced up, then back down. "As soon as people saw smoke from the Lavits, they called the cops and everything. They're trying to put out the fires and tend to everyone."

"And…." Brock sucked in a shaky breath, relieved he'd stopped coughing. His voice was still shot to hell though, coming out in a tortured whisper. "And what about Quentin Beck?"

"Police got him, I think. Hopefully he stays behind bars this time."

Parker hesitated and then spoke up again, looking down, his cheeks flushing as if ashamed. "Eddie…just so you know, I wanted to tell you that someone tried to break into your car while we were in there. They broke one of the windows. The back one. I guess they saw my backpack there and thought something valuable might be in there, and tried punching through it."

Anger was probably a good idea, but right now he was too damn exhausted to care. Eddie managed a feeble nod.

"Was there?"

"Was there what?"

"Was there anything valuable?" Eddie gazed up at Parker's face. "In your backpack."

The teenager looked away, and shook his head, still looking ashamed for some reason. "No, there wasn't anything valuable. I'm sorry about the window, Eddie."

"It's not your fault."

Parker looked as if he wanted to argue the point but then thought better of it, settling for nodding instead. They listened to the sound of the fire trucks – the source of that roaring sound like a waterfall – combating the blaze in the Lavits Center. Eddie debated the merits of trying to sit up now, but Parker held out his hand in a _ no_, _ stay _ gesture, pressing him back down gently as if he was made of glass.

"You probably should take it easy, Eddie," he said, reaching up and wiping unconsciously at the big black soot spot on his cheek. It only succeeded in smearing it around even worse.

Eddie relaxed back with a weak sigh. A part of him wanted to jump up and get the scoop on whatever the hell happened, like a good reporter should, but he just didn't think he had it in him. It was hard enough to even stay awake and he had a monster of a headache, nevermind the fact his chest hurt and his mouth felt numb, bruised and aching. _ I have to stay awake_, he thought, looking up at Parker's boyish, soot-covered face. He couldn't go scaring the poor kid, especially on a day like today.

He managed a faint smile. "Some first day on the field, huh, Parker?"

Peter Parker grinned crookedly.

"You've got a very exciting job, Mr. Eddie Brock."


	8. Bad Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original story was by Famira Damaris. They had no intentions of continuing it, and granted me permission and ownership of the fanfic.
> 
> If you want to read the original please go here: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/2004088/1/Black-Sustenance (chapter 1 is the prologue)
> 
> Italics for thoughts/emphasis/symbiote
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SPIDER-MAN, OR ANY OTHER CHARACTERS IN THIS FANFIC.

Silver Sable crossed the foyer with purposeful strides, her gleaming hair shining white in the overhead lights as she stalked toward the fine oak doors across from her. Fighting and losing that mysterious black mutant didn't please her, much less the idea that a good portion of the Wild Pack team was either recovering or just plain _ dead _ after the encounter. They didn't even have anything to show for it. That was the worst part of it, the part that made Silver Sable grit her teeth and wonder if the job was even worth it. She didn't look forward to contacting the deceased's families.

How had that mutant escaped? She shot him not only with the USW cannon, but also with a damn _ verg_! The creature should have been in a coma, _ not _ running and evading the sweep teams on the streets for the entire weekend. There had been no sign of the beast's slobbering face at all. Spider-man was active again, but they decided it would be best to stay away from him for now. At least that was Flint Marko's plan: _ she _ fully intended to find out Spider-man's relationship to this black mutant and follow up on it. Was he a monster like that all the time? Or was it some kind of transformation, like the Hulk?

It _ had _ to be some kind of transformation. How else could the mutant hide from them this long? Even if he'd fled to the sewers and subway tunnels, Wild Pack should have flushed him out by now.

This was one of those details that _ would _ have been nice to know ahead of time.

She was used to hunting down targets, running them down until they were too tired to keep going. But that was as long as her contract was valid and she was unsure if the Kingpin still thought her services worthwhile after the mess that was two days ago. _ It's Marko's fault_, Silver Sable thought, and knew it didn't matter. His failure was her failure.

Pushing open the double doors to the expansive office revealed Marko already talking to Wilson Fisk. Or rather, talking _ at _ him – the Kingpin didn't even look like he was listening, squeezed into his chair and glancing out the window as Marko explained himself, his burly arms crossed over his chest. They both turned toward the door at her arrival.

"Ms. Sablinovia," Fisk said.

Silver Sable coolly nodded to Fisk, coming to a halt next to Marko. "Mr. Fisk."

"Mr. Marko here was telling me of your…problems capturing this mutant," Fisk went on. "I don't think it needs to be said I'm growing concerned about this. You came to me highly recommended, after all."

The female mercenary's only sign of reaction was a faint thinning of her lips. "I intend to correct our setback. My Wild Pack operatives are scouring the area he was last seen, and we are widening the search radius as we speak."

"I believe he knows he's being pursued. He won't be baited so easily."

"He can't hide forever," Silver Sable said, more out of sheer experience than any bravado. "We _ will _ find him. We already know that Spider-man is the link."

Fisk was silent, and then turned in his chair, facing the impressive view of the Manhattan skyline he had from his office window. It was high enough to where one felt like they were looking out over the world. "I'll give you one week. One week before I start showing interest in this Deadpool character."

Next to Silver Sable, Marko gave a twitch, looking up and glaring at the back of Fisk's chair. Obviously Deadpool was so notorious that even he knew of the madman. Silver Sable pushed down her pride and nodded, then turned smartly on her heel and marched herself out of the room. Marko caught up with her once they were out of the range of the office, grabbing her by the arm.

"I thought we agreed to back off of Spider-man for the time bein'!" Marko hissed.

Silver Sable glanced down at her arm. "Remove your hand before I get unpleasant."

Marko glared, but let go. He was unable to resist muttering "crazy bitch", but she decided to ignore it this time around. It was half-hearted anyway.

"Finding this mutant's more important and Spider-man is our main lead," Silver Sable said. "We have a week before my employer makes the mistake of replacing me with Deadpool. I don't know about you, but _ I _ don't intend to be in the area if he does show up. I think it best if we don't give him any excuse to be in New York in the first place. I don't like getting civilians killed if I can avoid it."

"I'd rather not get killed if _ I _ could avoid it," Marko muttered under his breath.

Silver Sable quirked an eyebrow at him. "_You're _ made of sand. I don't think you're in much danger."

"I'm sure he could get creative an' figure somethin' out," Marko replied. "I've heard he's done crazier."

"Either way, we need to do whatever it takes to capture this black mutant of yours," Silver Sable said. "I'll have Spider-man followed. Eventually he'll slip and we can track him down, identify him. Once we know his true identity, we'll be closer to learning who this mutant is if we can narrow down who he's been in contact with as both himself and Spider-man."

"Do what y'gotta do, I guess," Marko grunted, finally relenting. "I'm going to find this fucker _ my _ way."

X

Peter Parker shook his head furiously. No way was he letting MJ come!

"No, I don't think it's a good idea," he protested. "You're _ not _ coming, okay?"

Mary Jane flared, planting her hands on her hips. "How come?"

"It's…it's just a guy from my work," Peter explained, not backing down. It was bad enough he had to risk it all to make sure Brock _ wasn't _ going on a bloody rampage because of him. He could never forgive himself for putting MJ in the line of fire in case anything happened. Seeing that his best friend wasn't just accepting that explanation alone, he decided he would have to tell her some of the truth. "Eddie Brock."

Mary Jane's face was blank.

Peter tried again. "The one that threatened to kill me?"

"Oh!" Mary Jane looked startled. "They found him?"

"Yeah. I…I think I should visit him, but I think it's safer if you don't come."

"Why would you even want to visit a guy who threatened to kill you?" Mary Jane asked.

Peter sighed. It was a lot bigger than just that. After all, he was already threatened every day to begin with, from small time crooks to the next guy fancying himself a supervillian, so Brock wouldn't have been a blip on the radar normally. "I don't know. Maybe we can try to work things out," Peter said lamely.

Mary Jane huffed, but eventually gave up.

"You be careful, Peter Parker," she said, shaking a finger at him.

"I'll try," he said, bending down and tying his shoelaces. Just his web-shooters were actually on him: no Spidey outfit today. Not when he was dealing with Brock. For all he knew, the mere sight of his costume might send the former reporter over the edge again and he wanted to try to get some real answers without having to pound them out of him. "Can you, uh, tell Aunt May and Gwen I had a study session at the library or something? I don't know exactly when I'll get back."

"Okay," she said. "I'll try to hold them off as long as I can."

"Thanks, MJ," Peter said, and kissed her on the cheek. "'For luck'."

Mary Jane grinned. "You're _ such _ a dork. Did you just quote Star Wars at me? As _ Leia_?"

"You're the bigger dork for knowing what I was even quoting in the first place," Peter opened the door. "I owe you big."

Peter's smile dropped as soon as he was on the bus line from Queens that would take him to the island; he couldn't help dropping his head into his hands and running worried fingers through his hair. It was easy to act like nothing was wrong in front of MJ, but the truth was that he was almost convinced today would end badly. He hadn't seen Brock in such a long time: the last time was months ago, when he found out that the former reporter had become the symbiote's new host.

Nevermind the fact that Peter genuinely _ liked _ Eddie Brock before all that.

He still remembered that first meeting in Jameson's office. Eddie, standing up and smartly dressed in his dress shirt and black leather jacket, holding out his hand briskly and carrying himself like Peter imagined a _ real _ live journalist would. He didn't even flinch at Jameson, meeting him head on. The whole mess with the Quentin Beck conference, Eddie there trying to explain everything and even being so concerned about the "new kid" that he had risked his life while everyone was running for theirs just to look for _ him_.

Peter could still remember how terrible it felt when he'd dragged out both Mysterio and Eddie from the Lavits, and came to the chilling realization that the blond simply wasn't _ breathing _ anymore. He looked dead, eyes closed, face relaxed and skin ashen.

It was only sheer luck that Peter still, somehow, recalled the CPR they taught in phys ed once – and it was an outright miracle that it even worked at all. The stuff he said back then over Eddie was more out of desperation than any real hope for the guy, who not only inhaled Mysterio's bizarro gas but also a good lungful of smoke. It had been one of the scarier moments of Peter's life; especially when he was trying frantically to remember just _ how _ many compressions you were supposed to do, praying that he was even doing it right, and looking down at the unresponsive, deathly pale reporter lying on the ground and worrying that he wouldn't wake up.

Worrying that Eddie Brock was the life he _ couldn't _ save.

When Eddie finally revived, gazed up at him, still looking half-dead, and commented – of all things – on his _ shirt_, Peter had felt like a huge weight had slid off his shoulders.

Once, long ago, when Eddie was still Eddie, Peter wanted to be like him.

He enjoyed tagging along. Just being with Eddie was fine: it was a lot more fun and interesting than the programming work or just solo photography. The Eddie from back then used to be funny, critical of others yet always willing to be the first to criticize himself. He didn't seem to be afraid of anything, either, willing to charge ahead armed only with a camera and a press pass as if that was all he needed. But now the Eddie he knew was gone: there was only Brock. There was only Venom, twisted by hatred and rage and an alien symbiote that whispered sweet nothings and took you over, body and soul, and made you its possession until you couldn't twist free. Or, at that point, maybe didn't even _ want _ to escape.

That weight Peter felt when he thought Eddie was dead? It was back.

He supposed in a way this could mean the Eddie he knew _ was _ dead, but Peter wanted to hope that maybe it wasn't so irreversible. That maybe the comics and movies had it right when they talked about redemption. Maybe it was being too optimistic, but he couldn't help feeling that way all the same.

When Peter reached the emergency room, he loitered outside for a few, indecisive minutes, biting his lip and every now and then glancing at the glass doors. He had been in such a rush to see Brock and make sure the ER was still in one piece that he hadn't even come up with a convincing story about how he knew the "John Doe" brought in two days ago. Or why it would be okay for someone who _ claimed _ he was a co-worker to visit. Should he just sneak in?

Probably would be best. It wasn't like it was the first time he had to take the backdoor.

X

Eddie still felt physically weak, but that wasn't enough to stop the need for the twice daily servicing he required.

At least they put him in a real room, he thought feverishly, because he was starting to moan load enough that it would have brought in someone to investigate if it had been the previous curtain dividers. It was embarrassing, really, that he couldn't even go a day without needing this release, and it was made worse by the fact that his Other was in no shape to do it for him. And while Eddie _ did _ try to go back to the basics and jerk off like every human male out there in the world equipped with a penis, it just didn't seem to give him the same sense of temporary fulfillment that servicing by symbiote did.

It felt…empty. Unsatisfactory.

It also probably didn't help that mentally he didn't even want to jerk off. He wanted to _ sleep_, dammit, but his changed body wouldn't have any of that. Shoving a hand down the flimsy, crinkly pants they gave him, Eddie took hold of his straining erection, feeling its throbbing, painful warmth in his palm, and began to try – again – to unsuccessfully masturbate, running fingers along his length and touching its sensitive head. The blond bit down another moan as he ran his fingers back down, and then up, feeling the familiar, human feeling of pleasure rising in response.

And yet it wasn't enough.

_ Eddie Brock_, he thought, panting, _ you are one fucked up individual. _

A big problem, he decided, was that he didn't feel particularly motivated to jack off. And that, he was now finding, made it really, really hard to get anything accomplished when he plain didn't feel like it. Eddie even tried the tactic of visualizing Spider-man as _ theirs _ and found his thoughts wandering off in mid-fuck. After a few more minutes of trying to stroke his erection into release, Eddie had to give it up as a lost cause, groaning aloud to himself. This wasn't working. He was too accustomed to the symbiote being there, giving and taking, invading him in every fashion, claiming him even as they planned to invade and possess the Spider. Trying to fly completely solo like this didn't cut it.

Turning in his bed, which was hard, cramped, and far too starchy for his tastes, Eddie buried his face into the pillow and groaned louder into it out of sheer frustration. No doubt a few minutes from now he'd be back to trying to get off. _ Not _ trying drove him crazy, was even worse than the tease of his own feeble attempts at self-servicing, like an itch in the back of his skull that wouldn't go away unless he threw away all human inhibitions and tried to fuck his brains out.

The problem with that was he wasn't willing to start jumping people here. It was one thing with the symbiote. It was another thing entirely with anyone else.

Eddie wasn't so far gone that he'd be willing to bang strangers. It was bad enough he was apparently already willing to go for their brains in his free time.

He was still lying there catching his breath and debating another go at it when he suddenly jerked up, sensing something. A familiar presence on the roof…who…?

Oh.

Him. _ He wouldn't dare, _ Eddie scowled, lying back down and resting his cheek against the pillow, keeping his eyes mostly closed and trying to tell his groin to _ stop that _ right now. _ He can't be _ that _ stupid– _

Peter Parker proved him wrong by popping his head upside down past the window frame and looking inside.

_ What does _ he _ want? _ Eddie tried to ignore the insistent pool of heat between his legs that only strengthened at the sight of their Spider. Did he want to gloat at their weakness? It was because of him that they were in this state anyway, and it was his fault that Eddie couldn't even accomplish the simplest of tasks and jerk off like a _ normal _ man. The symbiote was almost completely dormant now, but it registered Parker's presence even so.

If he intended to finish them off, they would be ready to fight him, weakened or not. They both wanted to survive too much.

Feigning sleep, and letting his body relax, Eddie watched through half-closed eyes as Parker reached down, did something with the window and eventually slid it open, moving as quietly as possible. Slipping in and sitting on the counter under the window, toned legs curled under him, he carefully slid it closed again and set down his backpack, turning toward the bed.

"Brock," Parker whispered, approaching the bed. He paused for a long, long moment looking down at them, expression visibly upset. "Eddie, are you awake? Eddie?"

Eddie wasn't sure at first what made him snap. It wasn't the burning _ need _ of the Spider he had that he couldn't satisfy. It wasn't even that or the fact that this was all Parker's fault. Or that he was bothering them when they were trying to rest.

It was the mention of his former name.

_ He _ of all people _ still _ insisted on calling them "Eddie Brock", as if the human known by that name was still there, was still in one piece. The Spider refused to acknowledge them as what they were now, what they would be forever! Pure _ rage _ clouded Eddie's vision and he completely forgot about the need to wait and see, to rest or even attend to his body's needs. Without warning, his eyes snapped open, fixed snakelike right on Parker standing over him, and then he lurched for the teenager with a snarl, his hands already starting to morph into the oily, jet black claws as he went for his exposed throat:

"Don't _ call _ us that! There is _ no _ more Eddie Brock!"

They hit the floor in a violent tangle of limbs and rolled, banging into the base of the bed, Eddie the entire time hissing in fury and trying to get in a good hit so he could smack some sense into Parker once and for all. They were _ Venom_! They managed to get in a rake of their claws across the boy's shoulder before he recovered from his initial surprise and started to defend himself. It wasn't much of a fight in their condition. There was no time for acrobatics and Parker didn't even bother, instead fighting rough and dirty and retaliating with a brutal headbutt that left Eddie seeing stars and reeling.

That still didn't drop him.

Parker fired off a second headbutt right on the tail of the first.

Stunned, the blond fell back, collapsing onto the floor as Parker scrambled to his feet, panting and clapping a hand to his bleeding shoulder. Eddie hadn't gotten off lightly from the brief scuffle either, his head aching like he'd been hit by a sledgehammer (closer to the truth than he would have liked to admit), and now tasting the coppery tang of his own blood in his mouth from a newly bleeding nose.

"_Stop it_, Eddie!" Parker said over them as they tried to collect themselves, licking unconsciously at the flowing blood and gazing up at him. For some reason they saw _ two _ Parkers and they weren't quite sure which one to focus on. "Stop it right now!"

Eddie pulled himself up into a sitting position, glaring daggers up at the Spider (well, at the one he picked as the real one, ignoring the clone image of him wavering in his vision). Their nose _ hurt_, though it wasn't broken, and his head was absolutely killing him from that second headbutt. They wanted nothing more than to press the attack, show this insolent whelp why it wasn't wise to deny them the respect they were due by calling them their old name. Feeling the blood from his injured nose starting to well up on his tongue, Eddie tilted his head derisively and made a point of spitting a gob of red, green-flecked blood at Parker's foot.

The teenager didn't try to jump away; instead he looked down at the mixture of human and alien blood on his shoe, then at Eddie sprawled on the floor with something that almost resembled pity.

"I didn't come here to fight," Parker said.

Eddie sneered, reaching up and wiping at his bleeding nose with the back of his hand. "You came to gloat, we bet."

"No, I didn't."

Hard to believe. Either that or finish them off.

"I didn't come for any of that," Parker repeated. "Now can we talk like _ people _ or are we going to just have to slug it out? I think we both know I'd kick your ass right now if it comes to that."

Eddie hissed between his teeth in annoyance, but had to reluctantly concede the point. If the Spider could drop them just from two headbutts – something that wouldn't have done much damage before – then it was very possible he could fight them and actually win in their present state. Those blows really did a number on them too. He didn't think they could stand up yet without falling, much less coordinate an attack, tempting as it was.

"Get it over with, Spider," Eddie said crankily. "Tell us what you want then."

Parker still looked troubled. "Why do you keep doing that?"

Eddie had no idea what he was going on about now. All he knew was that he was apparently talking to the wrong Parker-image and hastily turned his attention onto the right one. They looked at the _ right _ Parker blankly.

"You keep saying 'we'," Parker said. "Eddie, there's only you. There is no 'we'."

"How we talk about what we _ are _ bothers you?" Eddie couldn't help a self-deprecating laugh, leering up at the teenager standing over him. "Something so trivial?"

"Yes, it does happen to bother me because creepy stuff bothers me. Do you even know how utterly _ insane _ you sound right now?"

Eddie couldn't prevent the _ uf-uf-uf _ of another laugh from bubbling up, throaty and not quite his – it was the closest thing a symbiote could do to show amusement. "And what makes you think we care, Spider? We are _ very _ happy with what we are. You don't know what you gave up, you stupid fool."

Parker went silent, and stepped back to allow Eddie to finally get to his feet. The blond pushed himself up with the aid of the bed, annoyed that his legs shook and new stars burst into his vision, but at least he was able to stagger over to the lone stool in the small room and sit down, turning his back on the boy and letting him know that they would honor this temporary truce – for now. Eddie sat down, resting his hands on his knees and for a moment trying to wipe away the rest of the blood leaking from his nose.

Relaxing slightly, Parker sat down on the edge of the bed after making sure he secured the door with some webbing and ensured them some privacy.

"I came to talk," the Spider finally said.

Eddie grunted in disbelief, tending to his nose by wiping at it with his increasingly bloodied hands and occasionally with his flimsy shirt, glowering at the teenager the whole time if he could burn holes just by sheer dint of willpower.

Parker crossed his arms over his chest. "I want to know what you were doing there the other day in that park. I found you naked and unconscious. I had hoped…"

Should they tell him about Sandman and Silver Bitch? "Hoped?"

The boy flushed, embarrassed. "I'd hoped that maybe you were normal again," he said quickly, the words rushed together and sounding flustered. "I didn't see the symbiote. Okay, you happy?"

Eddie simply stared dumbly at Parker, for a moment not comprehending the absurdity of the boy's words, and then threw back his head and _ really _ laughed this time.

"You…thought _ us _ …." Eddie found it hard to speak normally, grinning, fangs bared. "Oh Spider, you really _ are _ one of a kind, aren't you? So hopelessly optimistic!"

"Stop calling me that," Parker said peevishly. "I'm not your 'Spider' for the last time. I have a real name, you know."

Eddie fixed Parker with a bloodshot eye. "And so do we."

Parker sighed, getting frustrated. "I'm not calling you 'Venom'. You're always going to be 'Eddie Brock' to me whether you like it or not."

"Then you will always be 'Spider' to us."

"I – okay, whatever. _ Not _ going to argue about this right now," Parker said, visibly taking a breath to focus himself. "Well? What were you doing there when I found you?"

Eddie shrugged. "What business is it of yours?"

"I brought you here, Eddie!" Parker flared. "I didn't have to, but I did!"

"So one act of goodwill binds us to you, is that it?" Eddie asked sarcastically. "Enslaved by your _ charity_?" The blond drawled the word out with obvious contempt.

Parker met his eyes. "This wasn't the first time and you know it."

_ That _ shut them up. Yes, yes they remembered all too well that first incident at the Lavits. Saving Eddie Brock's life that day did merit some kind of favor in return, it seemed, and for a long second Eddie just stared at Parker, deciding how much to share. Not all, of course, because he mustn't be warned too early about the mating that needed – _ must _ – be done. Eddie looked down, fiddling with part of his torn shirt in a bloodied hand and toying with the folds before looking up:

"The Man of Sand," he spat, hating every moment of revealed information to despised, desired Parker. "And the Silver Bitch. They did this to us, put us in such a pitiful state that even you are a threat. They hunted you and then tried to hunt us. The Silver Bitch hit us with some kind of strange weapon and weakened us to where escape was necessary."

Parker looked as if he was wondering whether Eddie was lying or not. "So that's how far you got? That park?"

"Yes."

"I think I know Sand Dude already," Parker said, thinking. "What about this Silver…"

"Bitch," Eddie supplied helpfully. "White bodysuit, silver hair. Man of Sand called her a 'crazy bitch', we do believe. So: Silver Bitch."

"Figures," Parker muttered under his breath.

Eddie shifted in his seat. They still needed to find a way to service themselves, but now the idea of doing it in private looked more and more appealing…and _ not _ in a place where the Spider thought he could come and go as he pleased just because he got in a lucky hit today. "Leave," he hissed. "Or we will."

"Just one more thing," said Parker quietly. "I just want to know if the real Eddie is really gone. I don't get why you keep saying 'we' if that was the case."

The blonde opened his mouth to tell Parker just how dead wrong he was, but found he had no words left. They didn't want to talk about this, not to anyone, not to Parker. The situation was…complicated. And what did Parker care anyway? Why the need to be so nosy? Glancing over suspiciously at the boy, they saw that he was watching them with open pity now.

"Eddie, if you're even still in there, I just wanted to know if you thought this really was the only choice you had."

"I…it…" Eddie seemed to shake himself under Peter Parker's scrutiny, as if struggling to come out of a daze. It was hard to tell what was what or where he ended and his Other began. Why did it matter so much? He couldn't imagine a time without that intimate presence in his mind or coiling in his body, owning a place even in his very bones just as it did everywhere else that was his to give.

He wavered. "Yes, I-I think was."

It seemed a lot more certain earlier in his mind with just the symbiote, but now he was torn. Parker was just sowing more confusion; that was what he was good at, after all, and now they were starting to get angry again now that they saw through his games. Either one of them would leave or there would be a corpse on the floor in a couple of minutes.

Eddie abruptly stood up and glared at Parker.

"You always were good at diversions, boy," he said, eyebrows drawn together, face still a ghastly mask of blood despite his attempts to clean himself up. They turned and mounted the wall, then the ceiling before the window, presenting their back on Parker. "But you won't separate us _ that _ easily. If you follow us, we will stop you by killing those civilians you so love, starting with your precious Mary Jane Watson."

With that said, Eddie drew back a fist, the symbiote rippling black over his arm, and punched the window. Glass shattered outward as Eddie crawled through and then bounded up out of sight, ascending the outer wall and disappearing into the deepening evening.

They were done here.

X

Running to the window, Peter Parker watched Brock take off, knowing that he would carry out his threat if he was followed. He didn't dare risk pursuing the former reporter even though he was weak enough that he could probably be dragged back.

_ Eddie… _

Was it hopeless? Peter didn't know. He _ did _ know he was seriously creeped out: while he did see Eddie sitting there, speaking eerily with Eddie's voice, he knew that he wasn't dealing with the man he used to know (and it wasn't just the creepy way he kept saying "we" either). The Eddie Brock he knew wouldn't have tried to attack him, for starters, much less tried with his _ bare hands_. Especially unnerving was the expression when he'd attacked him, ready to kill, his face twisted with such open hatred that Peter hadn't even tried to fight back at first just from shock alone. The pure rage that he saw on Brock's face at that moment was nothing short of terrifying; if the blond could have, he probably would have tried his damned best to tear him apart.

Most of the jokers he'd fought wanted to either hurt him badly or just plain try to kill him, but he hadn't seen anything that had matched Brock's look today.

It was hard not to feel depressed. The meeting hadn't gone off as well as he would have hoped, and starting it off with a fight? Yeah, _ not _ the best of ideas, but Peter needed to defend himself. He felt a bit guilty about hitting Brock like that, but he needed to be stopped before it got too out of hand. All signs seemed to point to the fact that the symbiote problem was irreversible, but he wasn't going to just take it and leave it like that_. He's got to still be in there, _ Peter thought, picking up his backpack and wincing at the bleeding claw wounds on his shoulder. _ For a second it seemed like I was getting through to him. _

Maybe he was just a sucker believing in misplaced hope. To tell the truth, Peter was ready to think it a lost cause until Brock actually told him about Sandman and that silver lady – and he hadn't even had to punch it out of him. All things considered, Brock _ had _ answered him surprisingly freely.

Maybe it wasn't as hopeless as it seemed.

"Is everything okay in there?"

Peter turned, and watched as the doorknob jiggled, rattling as someone on the other end tried to get into the room.

"Mr. Doe? Please open the door!"

_ I think that's my cue, _ he decided, and after a moment, let himself out of the broken window and back up onto the roof. Wouldn't be too smart to stick around, especially once they got through the door – or his webbing dissolved – only to discover that their mystery patient suddenly upped and left through the window. It wouldn't look good, not when some of Brock's blood splashed all over the floor from that encounter and him still standing here with some of that blood on his own clothes. _ That, and me and cops? We don't mix. _

Peter beat a retreat from the ER, going back to the streets once he was a few blocks away. Compared to earlier, he had some leads, thanks to Brock: Sand Dude was still out there and apparently had picked up a girlfriend to take along with him on his idea of a romantic date.

_ There can't be that many people that look like what Brock said though. _ She must have been the crazy lady who shot him up with all those dart things the other day. _ How cute_, Peter thought, annoyed. A crazy lady to go with a crazy dude made out of _ sand_, of all things. Somehow the pairing fit. Maybe the Bugle would have some more information on them.

Peter still found himself thinking about Brock, though.

Even if he _ wasn't _ out to kill him or his friends and family immediately, it still came down to it that he didn't know where the man went or just what his agenda even was. Or why Crazy Lady and Sand Dude were after him in the first place. To top it off, Peter still had a ton of homework due and he hadn't even gotten started. Not to mention his shoulder was all messed up (thanks to Brock) and he couldn't exactly go home on the bus with a bloody, shredded shirt and _ not _ draw some unwanted attention.

Great.

He still had his costume in his backpack, more for an emergency than anything else, but swinging back home with an injured shoulder didn't look too fun – but it was either that or bus home looking like he'd murdered someone. Ducking into an alley and stepping gingerly over the trash and questionable puddles of _ something _ that wasn't water, Peter sat down on a plastic crate. He didn't change immediately, staring down at the crumpled costume in his hands, running his fingers over the slightly raised webbing over the familiar red and blue fabric, and unable to shake that ugly look on Eddie Brock's face.

X

(The next day)

The one good thing about being what everyone thought was a "common crook" was that you developed the small-time connections where it counted. You also learned to make friends fast and get buddy-buddy with even the most random of people. There was that…and there was also just listening into the proper channels – rumors, gossip, you name it, he paid attention to it – and sifting through the bullshit about alien abductions to more down-to-earth matters.

Rumor usually had a grain of truth in there anyway. It was what brought Flint Marko to this emergency room, ditching Silver Sable to snoop around on his own, with his way. Let her keep stalking that immature kid in his red and blue tights if she thought it'd help. He'd rather do what he always did best and follow up on that vital difference between rumor and truth. _ Rumor _ had it that there was some kind of case with a John Doe over the weekend, something about this man being brought in by Spider-man – and before the weekend was out, mysteriously vanishing. Only it wasn't without any trace, which wouldn't help much, or drawn as much attention. What did catch his attention was the rumor that there had been some kind of fight, and there was blood.

_ Weird _ blood.

Now he didn't fancy himself a science man, but if this mystery John Doe was their target, then even his blood could probably be useful to Fisk. Flint Marko approached the middle-aged receptionist manning the head desk.

"Hey, miss," he said. "I'm sorry t'bother you, but I was wondering if you could help me."

The receptionist looked up from her computer. "Are you here for visitation?"

"Yeah. Only…" Flint trailed off, looking worried. He thought about how it would feel if that crazy fucker Deadpool ended up in New York. It wasn't that hard to look worried. "I've been jumpin' around from ER to hospitals all night looking' for my sister's boyfriend. He went missin' the other day after a fight they had and my sister's almost outta her mind from worry. Kinda had a drug problem. I heard Spider-man brought a man here, so I'm hopin' that's him…"

The name of the game was confidence: act like you belonged and you _ did _ belong. Flint didn't fault the woman for falling for it. She wouldn't be the first or the last. That was the problem with nice, respectable people.

The receptionist frowned and stood up. "He did bring a John Doe in the other day, Mr…?"

"William."

"I'm sorry to say there's been a bit of a – a complication. Please, come this way. Jane, I'll be right back," the receptionist said to her partner at the counter, and escorted Flint down the halls. "He went missing around noon yesterday, Mr. William. We don't know exactly what happened, other than that it looks like he could have been abducted."

"_What_!"

"We called the police, but by the time we got the doors opened, he was gone," the woman stopped at the door – or what remained of it. It looked like a ram had caved it in (probably those police rams), and the room itself looked like a war zone: blood was splattered all over the floor and part of the bed, bent at an unnatural angle as if something hit it and hit it _ hard_. A chilly breeze drifted in from the broken window at the end of the room, which itself was still cordoned off by yellow tape. Despite feeling like he was onto something, Flint knew that he still had to play it careful.

Best not to sound triumphant. Flint thought of Silver Sable carrying out her threat about ripping his balls off and found it easier to go the right couple of shades of pale.

"Oh my God," Flint said, shaken.

"The police found some kind of webbing on the door before it dissolved. They think Spider-man did it…but that doesn't make sense, he brought him in."

Flint was going to need a description. While he didn't know what the fuck happened here, what he did know was that this black mutant had probably escaped. Maybe Spider-man tried to stop him. He took a risk: "Was this John Doe tall? Like, this high?" he held out his hand at the height he guessed the creature had been. "Has a bit of muscle on him, pretty good shape?"

The receptionist nodded. "Yes, about that height. Tall man around 6'3'', probably in his early thirties. Short blond hair, gray-green eyes."

"That's definitely him. How was he when he was in?"

"Disoriented. He didn't seem to know how he got here…I'm so sorry we couldn't help you more."

"Would it be okay if I looked inside the room? Maybe he left a hint."

The woman bit her lip, and glanced over his shoulder. She lowered her voice. "I was told not to let anyone disturb the crime scene. But…you can take a quick look. Please don't move anything."

Flint had to give her credit. Despite her gullibility, she wasn't going to leave him in the room alone. She stood by the door, her eyes following him as Flint ducked under the cordon tape and carefully moved about the room, making a point of examining everything even though he only had eyes for the blood on the floor. Finally crouching down, his back to the receptionist, he reached down with one hand, keeping his head pointedly turned away, and discreetly scrapped off some of the dark red stain (which, for some reason, was dotted with curious green flecks) on a piece of glass before standing up. The glass had disappeared by the time he turned around, his shoulders drooping with defeat.

"I don't see anything," Flint said. He glanced at the broken window as he stepped carefully across the crime scene and ducked back under the cordon. "I'm not from around here, but I was wonderin' if you could direct me to th' nearest police station? I better see if they found anything."

"Of course. This way please."

Flint fell behind the receptionist, and hid his smirk. Today had been very productive: he not only had a blood sample, he also had a description, enough to tell him several interesting things. For starters, apparently this mutant looked and acted reasonably enough like a normal man to fool the staff here when he _ wasn't _ a big, drooling monster with those longass fangs of his. Now that Flint had a real description of their mutant, he decided that following up Silver Sable's idea about finding out Spider-man's identity wasn't such a bad one. This description and the blood sample would help narrow down any of Spider-man's acquaintances instead of having to sift through each and every person the kid playing superhero might have come in contact with..

Still, he wasn't about to act like the silver bitch and just walk out now that he had what he wanted. _ He _had been raised right. Flint Marko made sure to thank the receptionist politely for her help before leaving – she'd helped him in ways she couldn't even imagine.

X

Weakness was still in their blood, but Eddie Brock knew he would recover.

The incident with Peter Parker hadn't helped though: between being pumped full of sedatives and then getting hit in the head _ twice _ in the space of twenty-four hours, Eddie was left feeling rattled. He hoped he didn't have a concussion. The symbiote would probably take care of it if he did, but that was still kind of a big "if" there considering he didn't know for sure the extent of his Other's abilities. Nursing what he knew would be a spectacular bruise pretty soon, and trying to figure out how he would explain it at the Globe when he went in tomorrow morning, Eddie lowered himself gingerly onto the bed of the apartment. They were a mess. _ He _ was a mess.

But being so close to the Spider, to Parker, was so maddening! Eddie still remembered the encounter perfectly well – being near Parker honed their recall – but he still wasn't sure what to make of it. Somewhere in the back of his mind Eddie knew he was what the kid said, that he was probably certifiably crazy, and yet he couldn't find it in himself to care (much). What did it matter? He was one with his Other and eventually he would be one with their Spider as well. What did it matter if he had a few screws loose?

Why did Parker care so much in the first place?

All Eddie knew was that reason seemed to fly right out the damn window when he got close to the kid. Like being near Parker served to remind them of all their rage and failures, remind them of their hatred and longing even though they knew they couldn't kill him. Despite all that had happened to him, Eddie used to think he was still somewhat adjusted, all things considered…only the encounter yesterday proved _ that _ wrong. That, topped off with the recent news that he was now apparently a cannibal, gave him a good deal to chew over in his head.

After a moment of restlessly lying on the bed, Eddie pushed himself to his feet and paced about the confines of the room. What to do? It wasn't yet time for the union with the Spider and while he couldn't deny his own lust for being _ one_, Eddie had to admit that trying to mate with Peter Parker was not only pretty gay, it was also probably highly illegal. _ Let's face it: he's still jailbait_, Eddie thought. And that wasn't even counting that they doubted he would consent to all this while it was going down. While Eddie knew that the usual human laws didn't apply to him or his Other, he _ had _ grown up with these views and he couldn't deny that looking at it from a step back _ did _ make him feel a bit apprehensive.

The symbiote slid languidly through the back of his skull. _ Don't concern yourself with these petty details, Host. We have done this before and will do it again. _

"You're right," Eddie said, drawing comfort and strength in the solid confidence he could feel emanating from the symbiote. Put that way, it didn't seem _ so _ bad.

_ We need to deal with our _ other _ enemies, however, before we attempt this. _

Oh yes. Sandman and the Silver Bitch. Eddie agreed wholeheartedly that something had to be done about them; either drive them away or kill them. Eddie stopped his restless pacing, resting a hand on the scratched windows and feeling the chilly glass against his skin.

Until the enemies on those fronts were gone, they couldn't get down to business. Eddie felt the increasing effects of the symbiote's need every day. Having it prolonged any longer than was necessary seemed tantamount to torture.

Eddie felt like shit, but he resolved to go back to the Globe tonight anyway. Every day mattered. Sensing his intent, the symbiote slid over his bare body, covering naked skin and forming his clothes: today an unassuming black turtleneck and jeans, with a matching scarf. Having his Other enveloping him like this felt good, real good, and it was _ almost _ possible to forget that his head was still killing him from Parker's damn headbutt.

Asshole.

Eddie hadn't thought it possible to both hate someone's guts and yet still _ want _ him at the same time. A mental snort. This definitely wasn't love. He knew it to be wrong, perverted, but he couldn't deny he felt _ something _ for Parker.

He certainly wasn't going to websling his way to the _ Daily Globe_. Leaving the apartment, he waved down a taxi. Once inside, Eddie leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes, feeling the car rumble back to life and pull into traffic. There were probably some employees still at the offices, but he could probably slip in relatively unnoticed. Eddie was impatient to get back to work digging around in the Globe's Archives for information on Sandman and his psychotic girlfriend, even more motivated. The memory of his inability to jerk off like a normal human being hit him harder than he would have liked, even though he knew it was something small. It was the last fucking straw.

Despite his bond with the symbiote, being unable to do the simplest of tasks made Eddie feel…less than human.

Like he couldn't control himself.

Eddie flushed as he recalled how he'd been in the emergency room, how he kept trying to service himself over and over even though it clearly wasn't working. Just like a broken record, he thought with disgust.

Opening gray eyes, Eddie glanced out the window, gazing up at the skyscrapers rising up into the night sky, stained a purple-pink from Manhattan's light pollution. They wanted control, craved it. Touching the cool surface of the symbiote in its perfect mimicry of a black scarf and feeling the thrum of _ life _ in it, Eddie's face set with determination. Maybe he was subhuman right now, but they knew that it could be corrected.

_ We're a perfect match, Eddie Brock. _ That was one of the very first things the symbiote said the morning after they bonded, when he woke up and felt _ something _ in him that certainly wasn't there before. As a Host, Eddie was supposed to be more than human now, and yet he found himself in the opposite position. _ It's all the Spider's fault_, Eddie thought angrily, glaring at the flashing screens of Times Square. While the boy was in no small part responsible for their creation (Eddie was all too aware that he was the symbiote's second choice, a definite step down from Parker), the blond didn't feel like he should be grateful to him.

He was their weakness, after all. He was why Eddie was like this in the first place. He was why Eddie was little more than an animal going about the motions of being a human – even in something as seemingly trivial as sex - if his symbiote was incapacitated.

Peter Parker was the key to righting that. The union with him would give them the control they desperately wanted.


	9. A Not-So-Secret Identity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original story was by Famira Damaris. They had no intentions of continuing it, and granted me permission and ownership of the fanfic.
> 
> If you want to read the original please go here: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/2004088/1/Black-Sustenance (chapter 1 is the prologue)
> 
> Italics for thoughts/emphasis/symbiote
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SPIDER-MAN, OR ANY OTHER CHARACTERS IN THIS FANFIC.

Tuesdays were the worst, in Peter Parker's opinion. Just a day after Monday but not even at the halfway point of Wednesday, Tuesdays also meant homeroom. True, his friends were there – okay, so he only had two in all of Midtown High – but that also meant sharing a room for an hour with Kong and Flash. And while he liked Gwen, her being around also meant that he couldn't tell Mary Jane right now about the weird feeling he had yesterday when he went out on a patrol.

Maybe he was going crazy, but he could _ swear _ someone was watching him patrol as Spider-man.

Yesterday it felt like someone's eyes were on him. But when he turned or stopped webslinging, he couldn't see anyone…it was seriously, seriously creepy. While he was used to stopping the conversation whenever he waltzed into a room or otherwise showed up and did his Spidey thing (being such a snappy dresser and all), he usually didn't feel like he was being _ watched_. Not like this. Not like someone was stalking him and taking _ notes_.

Again, just creepy. And weird.

Peter returned to the trigonometry homework, glancing at Gwen and Mary Jane. The two girls had their heads bent together over the same homework, Gwen working on a problem and comparing her answers to her friend's every now and then. Unlike him, they were focused on what everyone was supposed to be doing. A glance around showed that Flash was busy defacing one of the school's books, Kong slouched in his chair and caught up in another of his comics (a muscle-bound idiot dressed as a _ bat _ of all things on the cover), with the rest of the class at least _ pretending _ to look like they were being productive. Staring down at his own trig work, which had just his name at the top of the page and nothing else, Peter frowned.

Why couldn't he just sit still and do this? This was just simple math. He was _ good _ at math stuff. If he could look at his dad's adhesive formulas and come up with his webbing solution at his age, then trig should be simple, a walk in the park…But the words and equations just seemed to lose all meaning when he stared at them and it was hard to concentrate on _ why _ the law of cosines was important in the first place.

It came back to the feeling of being watched and followed.

It was bad enough having the feeling that somehow, someday, Peter was going to pop a seam in a very uncomfortable spot in his costume. The thought that he was being stalked just made him feel dirty. It wasn't like he had any solid proof though, aside from the feeling of eyes burning on his back. _ Maybe it's Brock_, Peter thought with a shiver. _ He's loopy enough to think it's funny_.

By the time homeroom was over, he managed not only to date his trig homework but also write down the number of the first problem.

"Oooh, that's a real start there, cowboy," Gwen said, leaning over with a clink of her bracelets. "Better slow down before you get whiplash from all that hard work."

Peter rolled his eyes, stuffing the paper into a folder as the other students filed out. "Ha ha. Cute."

Mary Jane peered around Gwen. "You didn't even start? We're almost finished over here."

"I was just thinking," Peter said. Gwen opened her mouth to tease him but he ran over her before she could get a word out. "And yes, I _ do _ think every now and then about stuff _ other _ than math. Don't look all surprised, Gwen."

"Will you stop reading my mind?" the blonde girl grumped. "You take all the fun out of it."

"Maybe we can work on it together later," said Mary Jane, meaningfully quirking an eyebrow.

Gwen gathered up her books. "'Work'. Yeah, this's getting a bit too steamy for me, if you get my drift," she slung her backpack over one shoulder and suddenly grinned mischievously. "Keep it PG, kids."

And with that she reached around and gave MJ a friendly slap on the butt, winked, and left homeroom.

Mary Jane rubbed at her butt ruefully. "She enjoys that way too much."

"I don't know, _ I _ kinda thought it was ho – hey!" Peter dodged Mary Jane's swat with her book.

With a sigh, the redhead stuffed the trig book back into her own backpack. They were one of the last to leave, with about a few minutes to go before the lunch period. All Peter knew was that he was probably going to spend a good amount of it checking to see how his shoulder was doing, but he still wanted to keep it under wraps. MJ still didn't know and wouldn't know he got injured, if he had any say on it.

"So what's the deal?" Mary Jane suddenly switched subjects. "I mean, you usually finish your homework before homeroom's even over and you didn't even get started."

Peter shrugged and suppressed a wince – _ not _ the best thing to do with a clawed up shoulder. "You'll probably think I'm crazy," he lowered his voice, "but I think someone's been following me around since Monday. When I'm, uh, in my _ jammies_."

"Your what – oh." Mary Jane suddenly realized what he was talking about and whispered back. "Well, they _ are _ kind of noticeable."

Peter ducked his head. "It's just this weird feeling during then. Not like before. It's like…like someone's been tracking me around but when I look around, I don't see anyone."

"Fan club?" Mary Jane quirked a half-grin.

"That'd be both cool _ and _ creepy, but no. I'm being serious. It's really distracting."

Mary Jane frowned. "Maybe you should keep low? Just for now."

"Tempted to," Peter still didn't feel much better. He hadn't felt the eyes on him today, but he was certain he'd at least been tracked to Queens. If anything, he'd have to steer clear of his house and Midtown High if he ever did go out on another patrol.

Or at least find out if it really was even Brock in the first place. Did seem like something he'd do, but Peter thought he'd also be able to get his kicks by actually showing his face when he did his stalking – let him know whose handiwork he was seeing. Seemed more his style, now that apparently being crazy was fashionable and this year's new black. Still, that didn't quite make sense. Why track him down as Spider-man_ ? I mean, he knows where I live. And he claimed last time to have all my memories from the symbiote, so… _Yeah. Brock probably knew the color of his underwear, nevermind just where he lived in the first place.

Did seem kinda pointless to stalk Spider-man instead of cutting to the chase.

After excusing himself and telling MJ he'd catch up later, Peter locked the door to the bathroom. The staff restroom here was basically a glorified handicap bathroom with one mirror and one toilet, but it had some privacy and without the resident school bullies trying their best to give their latest victim a swirly the next stall over. Setting down his backpack, Peter half-sat on the sink and gingerly peeled off his shirt, carefully doing the same with the gauze he'd taped over the wounds.

Yeah, _ that _ was going to sting in a bit.

Craning his neck, Peter tried to assess the damage. Thankfully he was a fast healer, but that didn't change the fact it still hurt in the meantime. And every now and then it seemed to want to bleed this really crazy yellow discharge that was totally gross. Considering who was responsible, Peter supposed he was lucky the jagged, bloody claw marks were healing at all. He'd probably have a pretty good set of scars, but he was more concerned with trying to explain them to Aunt May than anything else.

Gritting his teeth, he leaned over the sink and began running some cold water, cupping some in his hand and dribbling it over his injured shoulder for a bit before he began cleaning at what he could with some spare gauze he snuck into his backpack. The chill of the water felt a lot better, but the fact he was poking around at the ragged edges of the clawed skin canceled out that relief. Peter wasn't particularly surprised to see the gauze was stained pink and yellow when he finished, awkwardly reaching around to apply fresh bandages.

At least that was over.

Peter balanced himself on the sink, hands on both sides of it as he stared at the mirror. A wiry kid with dark spots under his eyes stared back, looking somehow tired even though he'd slept pretty well. Well enough, despite having run his shoulder through a meat grinder.

MJ had a point when she said to stay low. And he would, for a day or so.

But any longer just didn't feel right. People out there still needed help and it didn't matter to them whether he _ thought _ he was getting stalked or not.

X

(Wednesday)

"Hun, wake up. Were you here all night?"

Eddie groaned and raised his head from the keyboard, knowing he probably had an imprint of the keys on his cheek and not caring how stupid it looked. He gazed up blearily at the woman bending down over him; he still didn't know everyone's names, but he did at least know that the gossip columnist - a woman with at least a good decade over him that showed - offering him a cup of coffee was called Kat Farrell. Or Cathy. Close enough. He was pretty sure she was Cathy though.

"Yeah," Eddie said, rubbing at his eyes, and gratefully accepted the coffee. "I guess I just got caught up in my work."

Cathy glanced at his screen as the blond leaned back, working out the kinks from falling asleep with a keyboard for a pillow. "Trying to get the scoop on this Sandman guy, huh?"

Eddie sipped at the warm cup in his hands. It was straight up black coffee and had the characteristically unpleasant, bitter burn to it that served to wake him up further. The caffeine probably wouldn't do anything, not with his Other's distaste for foreign chemicals like that, but at least he wasn't drooling all over the _ Daily Globe's _ computers.

"I thought he was going to be old news, but I guess not," Cathy shrugged, and gave Eddie a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "Maybe you should go home and get some rest, Brock. You look beat."

He shook his head, forcing himself to take another sip of the coffee. "No, I'm okay now. I just lost track of the time. Workaholic," he said, offering a tired grin over the rim of his cup. "You know how it is."

"Don't we all. Did you find anything that'll help?"

"A bit, yeah," Eddie said. "I'm just about done for today."

There wasn't too much on this Sandman, only that he'd been identified as "Flint Marko" (an alias, probably), was in his late thirties, and that he operated primarily in Manhattan, keeping a relatively low profile until that first run in with their Spider a few weeks ago. Eddie rubbed at his eyes again as Cathy wandered off, staring at the computer screen before him and willing it to stay in focus. The name Flint Marko had circulated around the underground for a bit and he'd finally traced it by now to some rich bastard called Wilson Fisk. That left the question of what next.

Fisk was high profile. If they went and killed him, they'd probably draw too much unwanted attention to themselves. The last thing they wanted was to get on S.H.I.E.L.D's radar.

While they were powerful as Venom, they were still a fledgling host-symbiote pair. Enough numbers and weapons and they would go down.

_ Fisk's off limits…for now. _ Eddie rested his chin in one hand, frowning at the craggy but overall _ normal _ face of Flint Marko on the screen. They still saw red when they remembered how Marko had been standing over their Spider and while they knew he was only doing it to bait them, it was still infuriating. Common sense dictated that Marko didn't have any real claim on Parker, but the symbiote's instinctual response – now also Eddie's – said otherwise. On the most basic, gut level, they simply saw Marko as another competing male for the right to possess the Spider.

Incidentally, they weren't too big on sharing.

Still, Marko would be tricky to deal with. How to kill a man made out of sand? They could probably absorb some of him, but Eddie wasn't sure how much they could take or if that would even put much of a dent in the meddling fuck. Not to mention they had to keep their heads down after the incident at the Library, both from the cops, Marko _ and _ his crazyass girlfriend. So it looked like they were stuck playing errand boy for the _ Daily Globe _ until Marko made the mistake of showing himself again. Or, preferably, Silver Bitch did first: unlike Marko, she stood out. Too beautiful, that long platinum hair couldn't hide in a crowd, and she didn't bother to slouch or mingle with the "normals" like Marko probably did.

The way she carried herself, from what he remembered, would be a dead giveaway. She felt pride in herself and carried herself with her back ramrod straight.

Even in a crowd, he was sure they could pick her out. After then it was just a matter of strolling up and snapping her neck.

Yawning, Eddie pushed away from the desk and stood up to stretch, rubbing at an eye. Getting rest was probably a good idea, but it felt somehow wasteful, like he could be spending more time pouring over the online files and hard copies than trying to catch cat naps here and there. His new boss still expected him to show up to that retarded Fantastic Four science…whatever, _ some _ kind of demonstration Saturday night and he couldn't blow it off without awkward questions being asked. At least all he had to do was take pictures. Cracking his back, Eddie stared out the window of the high-rise office and tried to focus.

That damn bruise on his forehead was almost gone.

They knew Peter Parker would be there: the _ Daily Bugle _ would be there and so would that boy, taking _ their _ former job, taking what was _ theirs _ and laughing at them the whole time because he was half their age and _ still _ coming out on top. Eddie seethed with fury and open, ugly jealousy. Parker might have thought he won, but he'd be singing a different tune once they dealt with Sandman. He'd be wishing that he'd never spurned them, rejected them! Eddie found his hands were clenched into fists, trembling with rage. It was the symbiote's anger and yet it was his as well, like looking from two different eyes and knowing them to be both part of him.

This level of anger, of jealousy, wasn't something Eddie had been used to, but now it felt natural. _ Good_, even.

It was what kept them going even though the human part of him wanted to just curl in a corner and give up.

It was weakness. And the reason they were weak? Peter. Parker.

Sandman and his bitch were just obstacles to the real goal. While Eddie knew that his emotions weren't as stable as they used to be, the combination of need and hatred for the Spider kept them driven.

The moment of intense rage passed, leaving Eddie wide awake and more than a little wired. Adrenaline was still pumping in his veins; he felt on edge, as if he was prepping for a nonexistent fight, and ready for _ anything_, his heart rate increasing like he'd just run a marathon. This had been coming and going in the past, but he'd begun noticing that these rushes – for lack of a better name – seemed to come when he was feeling tired or particularly unmotivated. Something about it seemed a bit shady, but he supposed that so long as he could get his work done…It didn't matter why it happened. Or how.

The only thing that mattered was their continued survival and Spider-man.

_ Maybe I missed something in the hard copies_, Eddie thought. That was possible, he'd only skimmed them last night and all this morning without really registering what he read. It was a human failing to have productivity decrease the more fatigue increased – they were inversely proportional, his Other was learning. The symbiote seemed to absorb information like a sponge, especially where care of its human Host was involved.

Heading back to the desk, Eddie sat down and began pouring over the files before him. Not only was he wired, but he was also starting to get horny again. Fighting the urge to just shove a hand down his pants, the blond focused on the task ahead of him.

They still had work to do.

X

(Thursday)

There was not enough progress to make any real leads Tuesday, and while Silver Sable wasn't actually _ worried _ yet, she kept in mind that the clock was ticking. Time wasn't with them. It didn't help matters when there hadn't been _ any _ Spider-man sightings Wednesday either, leaving the mercenary to wonder if perhaps he'd figured out he was being followed and decided to lay low for a bit. Flint Marko hunkered down in the cramped van next to her, looking very much out of place and scowling. The man seemed to scowl a lot. Apparently that was his default expression for everything.

"You sure he's from Queens?" Marko asked.

Silver Sable didn't look up from the pistol she was cleaning, running a tiny wire brush through the barrel. "Not only have we tracked him there, but the media has also confirmed that he's been seen in the vicinity of Midtown High School more than once. We just need to narrow down which student he is."

"Yeah, he didn't strike me as staff. Seemed kinda…immature."

"We know his general height and body type as well as his voice," Silver Sable said. "This could all be solved if we just grabbed him again, you know."

"You got tranqs?"

"Not today."

"Then no, we're not grabbin' him. You can't jus' go into a high school an' start kidnappin' kids anyway."

Silver Sable rolled her eyes, cleaning out the pistol's slide. For Marko's tough guy act, he was surprisingly squeamish about certain things. Still, he did pull through, occasionally: he had gotten a pretty good description of the mutant's "human" shape, and they could probably narrow his identity down once they had Spider-man's. It would be a done deal. It was putting down this mutant that had Silver Sable concerned. Sedatives seemed to work, but they simply took too long to take effect. Tasers? They hadn't tried electricity and while this mutant had a thick skin, an electroshock weapon might be something to use. Maybe a remote stun-belt.

No, it couldn't just be that though. That would have to stun him long enough they could tranq him.

Assuming they even got to that point and could get the drop on him when he _ wasn't _ a gigantic, slobbering beast.

Currently they were camped outside Midtown High. The van was dressed up as a moving van carrying desks for the school, but the insides had been gutted, and were now filled with power cords, assorted monitoring equipment, herself and Flint Marko looking like he'd rather be anywhere _ but _ sitting next to her. That suited her just fine – better to have a man who knew respect than trying coping in a feel just because she had a pair of breasts.

Silver Sable had finished with the pistol and begun reassembling it, wondering if Spider-man would be a no-show again, when one of the Wild Pack members dressed in her civvies phoned in:

"_Got a visual, over_."

Marko leaned over, interested, as Silver Sable focused on the tinny voice on the other end. "What is it?"

"_Spider-man sighted approaching the gym…moving…Group of students heading to the south track now. He's probably changed out into civvies, but I believe he's in the group_. _ I'll try to get some photos to transmit for you._"

Silver Sable looked up, lips pursed. "Remember we've got a general idea of his weight and height range. Don't bother with the jocks."

"_Roger._"

The next few minutes seemed to crawl by. While not exactly prone to unwarranted optimism, Silver Sable was sure this was _ it_. And while she wasn't willing to risk running this kid's face through the databases and attracting all kinds of unwanted attention (such as S.H.I.E.L.D), there were other ways to get a name to a face.

There was a reason Flint Marko had the Midtown High yearbook on his lap, looking just as out of place as he did.

Sometimes you had to resort to the painfully simple methods to get the same answers. It wasn't quite as flashy or as technologically masturbatory as a face recognition scan, but it worked and didn't leave tracks.

Her handheld beeped quietly as the plant, faithful and efficient as ever, began transmitting the data: she'd been so thoughtful as to include both stills and some video with limited audio. Marko leaned close, enough to be invading personal space, but she ignored it for the sake of the job as they concentrated on the handheld. Silver Sable flipped through the images before going to the video and audio files.

It was when a thin kid with a head of shaggy brown hair was on screen that Marko visibly reacted.

"That's him!" Marko exclaimed. Silver Sable replayed the clip: "He's got th' same voice. Christ, he's jus' a little runt."

"You sure that's him?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely," Marko grunted. He began flipping open the yearbook in his lap and rifling through the pages, glancing up frequently to compare the photos of the students with the shot of this brunette. "What age do you think he is now?"

"I'd guess fifteen at least. Maybe seventeen, but that's a stretch."

"Sophomore. Or a junior, then," he said, bending down to the task. He spent a good twenty minutes pouring over the yearbook dwarfed in his lap, examining each face carefully, before he came up with a result. Marko looked up. "Gotta match. Says he's a 'Peter Parker'."

Silver Sable actually smiled. "Thank you, Marko. We can take it from here."

X

(Saturday)

Maybe that whole I'm-being-stalked thing was in his imagination after all.

It wasn't the first time Peter Parker had gotten paranoid. It'd felt so real, though. Maybe it was just that last encounter with Brock playing on his nerves, causing him to keep looking over his shoulder for who knew what and jumping at boogeymen. While he was probably justified in that reaction, he couldn't deny that he felt a bit lame about the whole thing. The thought that it was probably just paranoia was looking more and more likely especially since he hadn't had that feeling of being _ followed _ and _ watched _ for a few days now.

And still no sign of Eddie Brock. Peter couldn't understand it. What was the man up to? He'd scoured the news for anything out of place, half-expecting to come across some blazing headlines like EX-BUGLE JOURNALIST GOES ON RAMPAGE or CITY TERRORIZED BY ALIENS, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. There _ were _ those strings of murders – bodies turning up, at least a dozen people who'd been missing or homeless suddenly ending up dead – but he wasn't sure if he could pin those on Brock or not. They seemed to be pretty spread out. Unfortunately, sources like the Bugle didn't feel it too necessary to go into the details of what happened there (it wasn't "big", to use Jameson's words, as homeless people died all the time).

Still, between these murders, Brock, and Sand Dude, he had his hands full. Peter simply didn't have _ time _ to be paranoid.

It was probably safe to say that for once he didn't feel very enthusiastic about tagging along on a beat this time: while he didn't have anything against Ben Urich (cool guy), Peter just felt that he could be doing research instead of this. Maybe under other circumstances he would've felt more excited about seeing the Fantastic Four. But now all he could do was look down at the camera in his lap and toy half-heartedly with the lens, fiddling with the cap, and wonder what Brock was up to. It was almost a week since their last encounter, which hadn't ended well, and it just didn't seem like the man to sit there meekly while he had the symbiote with him.

"Don't look so worried, Peter," Urich said, glancing at him from the wheel. "This'll be a cakewalk. You'll do fine."

_ It's not this that I'm worried about. _ "I guess."

"Buck up," Urich flashed a grin, pushing up his glasses. "Just watch what I do. And make sure to get good pictures. Jameson'll have my hide if you don't bring back something worth the front page."

Peter forced a small, tight smile of his own. "I'll try."

It was hard not to remember the last times he'd accompanied someone on a beat – those times had been with Brock, not Urich, and he remembered they'd grown increasingly awkward after a while, with Brock becoming more and more distant without any reason why. And then there was the day where it'd just gone plain _ wrong _ …Peter shook himself mentally. It'd been an accident, he hadn't _ known _ that Brock felt upstaged by him until the day he got fired, and while it was probably his fault that Brock was now "Venom", it _ wasn't _ his fault that the man made the bad choices he did. It was tempting to heap all the blame on himself, but there was a line somewhere: you were responsible for your own actions, in the end.

And now it was a question of what Peter was responsible for. He hadn't taken care of the symbiote, hadn't tried taking it to Nick Fury or anyone else for that matter. This was his problem and he would have to clean it up.

But that could possibly mean he would have to make sure it was permanent…and he wasn't sure he could kill the symbiote and _ not _ kill Eddie Brock. Maybe they weren't bonded that far. It was a big maybe, but that was all he had; he didn't want to think of having to _ kill _ people, even if they were psycho.

Peter tried to cheer up as they pulled into the parking lot of the demonstration building, noting with relief that it wasn't the Lavits, instead flanked by two towering hotels and looking surprisingly modest. He didn't have time to note more as Urich ushered him out of the car and hurried the two of them toward the crowd near the lobby. Despite the 'incident' that happened last time he'd been at a conference, Peter was feeling pretty good: no one would be brave – or stupid – enough to try anything with the Fantastic Four here…would they?

Okay, so it was Fantastic _ Two_, technically, but he figured it was good enough. He had to stand on his tiptoes to see anything, but Peter managed to catch a glimpse of a blond woman mobbed by reporters with a tall man with glasses at her side as they exited from the hotel. The woman smiled prettily, her companion adjusting his glasses and facing off against the forest of microphones in his face as if he was used to that sort of thing, holding up a hand in greeting as lights flashed and cameras clicked. Peter didn't need Urich bending down next to him to whisper to know they were Sue Storm and Reed Richards.

It was very tempting to jump into the reporters, push his way to the front, and ask for an autograph. Of course Peter would never admit being a fanboy to Mary Jane or Gwen, but what could he say? It was hard _ not _ to geek over the fact that he actually was seeing _ Reed Richards _ with his own two eyes and that he and his wife were right there, in the flesh, and that they were the kinds of geniuses that he could only hope to grow up to be. If he was lucky.

"Well, well," drawled a voice behind him. "Isn't that just _ cute_? Thinking of getting an autograph? You should, you know: I'm sure they'll do it for a _ kid_."

Peter stiffened, whirling at the voice. Urich shouldered him aside to stand between him and the man before them: Eddie Brock grinned at the two, dressed in black slacks and a dress shirt that Peter knew wasn't just clothes. The blond looked much improved since the last time Peter had seen him, almost back to normal except for the shadows under his eyes, which were hard and cruel now. They didn't match the innocent expression on Brock's face, who looked positively wounded when Urich rounded on him with a scowl that stated he was clearly unwelcome:

"What are _ you _ doing here, Brock?"

Brock held up his camera. "Working. It's what people do, y'know. I'm sure you heard I got hired again."

"Congratulations," Urich said through gritted teeth. "You must be so proud of yourself."

"Why thank you and yes, I am," said Brock. "So what's old Jameson up to, Ben?" he smiled again, and Peter couldn't miss the mild venom lacing his words this time. "Still got a stick up his ass? Abusing all our dear friends – excuse me, _ former _ friends – at the Bugle?" Brock addressed Urich, but his eyes were on the teenager next to him, following his every movement like a hawk. "Inquiring minds want to know."

Peter felt Ulrich place a protective hand on his shoulder. "Everyone's fine. And it's not your business what happens at the Bugle anymore, you know that."

"I can't help being nostalgic. Good times," Brock finally tore his eyes from Peter and glanced toward the center of the crowd's attention, looking at Sue Storm and Reed Richards with disinterest. "I can't imagine this being Jameson's idea of good news; a bit too boring and technical for him. I bet he's just hoping something'll go wrong. Disasters always did sell."

Urich rallied to defend his boss. "Obviously you don't know him as well as I do."

"Oh, I think I do. I'm sure he wouldn't complain at all if his buddy _ Spider-man _ showed up."

Brock leered meaningfully at Peter, as if it was all some big joke that only he was privy to. It hadn't been so long ago that he saw that exact same face covered in a mask of blood and baring fangs at him, wanting nothing more than to tear him to pieces; the man had definitely cleaned up and it was amazing how well he was able to blend in and seem almost sane, in Peter's opinion. Peter stared back, not saying anything.

"So what's with the tagalong, Ben? I wasn't aware Jameson ran the Baby-sitter's Club," Brock changed the subject, still looking and sounding just as friendly as ever. He ignored Peter now, as if he wasn't worth his time.

"I'm training him."

Brock's smile twitched. Peter almost missed it. Urich didn't seem to notice. "For my job, I take it."

"No one could fill it," Urich replied, terse. "He's the best we got and Jameson needs a photographer."

"Well, good for him!" Brock said cheerfully. He turned his eyes back to Peter, and the look in them was unsettling; Peter could make out hatred and…and something _ else_, something he couldn't place, couldn't put a name to. "Don't go doing anything stupid, Parker. Wouldn't want to lose that cushy new job now, do we?"

Brock went to push past them to get closer for pictures, and then paused, thinking of something. He turned and made a point of clapping a reassuring hand on Peter's shoulder, the bad one that he clawed up only days before.

"Oh, but I forgot to say. No hard feelings?" Brock smiled and casually squeezed, sinking his fingers in. Peter fought not to gasp out-loud as pain shot up from the healing injury, seeming to go straight into his shoulder blade. His eyes swam with the beginning of involuntary tears. "Just wanted to clear it up between us since we didn't exactly leave on the best of terms. Without you, Peter, I wouldn't have had the opportunities I have now. Thanks."

Peter turned, blinking, and stared up at Brock, refusing to flinch: "You're welcome," he got out, and almost _ did _ gasp this time as Brock dug his fingers into his shoulder again with the same deliberate care, the friendly, I'm-a-good-guy look on his face unwavering.

"Take care," Brock said. "Both of you." The blond removed his hand, nodded to Urich, and smirked at Peter before disappearing into the crowd.

Wincing, Peter was glad he'd worn dark colors today; the spreading wetness on the back of his shoulder signaled that the wound was reopened after Brock's manhandling. His legs felt a bit shaky after that, and he could swear he could still feel the phantoms of Brock's fingers digging and twisting into his shoulder. Oblivious to what just happened, Urich sighed, deflating visibly.

"I'm sorry, Peter," he said. "I should've realized he'd be here. At least he wasn't angry with you."

Peter almost snorted at this, trying to catch his breath. Yeah right!

"I'm not surprised he's still bitter at Jameson though," Urich went on. "But he's taking it pretty well, all things considered."

That was somehow hard to believe. Brock could lay on the charm thick and fool Urich, maybe, but Peter was determined to keep an eye on the blond and find out what he was _ really _ after. Was it just a "job", like he claimed? Or was there some kind of motive behind it, something that he couldn't begin to guess at? Sure Brock looked bored about the whole Fantastic Two deal, but he could very well just be faking it to throw him off guard.

Peter raised his camera, focusing the lens on the heads of the crowd, panning and zooming in until he found a familiar head of cropped, spiky blond hair right by the front of the mob of journalists and photographers, following Sue and Richard.

Brock, somehow sensing Peter's eyes on him, turned, looked right at him, and mouthed something.

It looked almost like _ You're mine, Spider-man. _

Peter shivered, lowering the camera. He had a bad feeling that something was going to happen…and that Eddie Brock would probably be involved somehow.

X

Aside from messing around with Parker, Eddie Brock found himself bored out of his skull. There was only so much he could do with paparazzi type pictures and while Sue Storm had all the right curves (and one hell of an ass), it probably wasn't going to be the shots his boss was looking for, although he was sure the man would probably keep those pictures for his"personal" use. _ Great to know that I'm only good for wank material, _he thought sarcastically. Oh no, he wasn't bitter at all.

But he _ was _ bored and bored didn't sit well with him these days.

Eddie still wasn't quite sure just what the Fantastic Four were showing here; he didn't care, at any rate, and wasn't willing to sit through the entire damn thing no matter how much they claimed it'd benefit mankind. That was the boredom talking, but only in part: he wasn't entirely part of 'mankind', now, and what did it matter if a bunch of normal humans found world peace or something equally nauseating? They certainly weren't _ his _ species. That thought was jarring, feeling as if he was looking in on a stranger, and yet he knew it to be true. It was the truth that he was gifted, they were not. Fact, even.

Unfortunately he was still capable of feeling the human trait of boredom. Eddie wasn't sure if he could sit in the chair before the staging area much longer, listening to "Mr. Fantastic" ('_Fantastic' my ass_, he thought) ramble on, without starting to think it would be a damn good idea to start flipping some tables to stir things up.

That and the thought that Peter Parker was several rows behind him made them feel…antsy.

Giving him a reminder of pain had been enjoyable; it only seemed fair to Eddie that Parker get a taste of the pain _ he _ felt when he had to be serviced by the symbiote, when he ended up clawing himself up each and every time.

At least Eddie was sure he was set for now. Parker was close and the _ need _ to attempt to re-bond stronger than ever, but he wasn't trying to jump the kid and that was a plus as far as he was concerned. Bored as fuck still. If he didn't get some fresh air away from this sweltering mass of humanity grouped in one room – the stench of human was strong in their enhanced nose – he was probably going to get more than just bored.

Finally unable to take it anymore, Eddie got up, inching his way through the row of filled chairs until he was out in the aisle and heading toward the exit; he didn't have to turn to see their Spider tracking them, no doubt wondering just what they were up to. _ Let him wonder. _Eddie was all up for giving him a few more ulcers to worry about. Nothing would please him more than to make Parker torture himself with what ifs.

Walking out of the room, the double doors shutting behind him, Eddie paused in the lobby, and decided where to go. Getting something to drink seemed like an idea, but he hadn't seen any soda machines around here. Then again, he hadn't exactly been looking at them – hard to when you were checking out a certain Spider. Best bet was probably the hotels or something, linked for convenience's sake by halls to his left and right. Picking one, Eddie spent the next couple of minutes trying to locate a soda machine; the damned things were hiding on him and he had to wander his way up onto the seventh floor before he finally found a long row of vending machines.

He'd started to head toward one when he sensed someone behind him in the hall, a good several yards away.

"Eddie Brock?"

Eddie turned and froze. Flint Marko! It took all his control not to morph into Venom right there. Did he know about their identity? Or was this just some bizarre coincidence? "That's me," he said, wary. "Who's asking?"

"I'm Flint Marko. And I'm thinkin' we should have ourselves a little talk."

Eddie frowned. "I don't know who you are, but I'm busy. Leave me alone."

He made to leave, but Marko barred his way with a well-muscled arm.

"You're makin' the mistake of thinkin' you have a say in th' matter, Mr. Brock," he said. "You've got two options here: th' nice way – my way – or th' hard way. I'm tellin' you now you don't want th' hard way."

"I don't understand," Eddie said, playing it dumb for now and trying to stall. "What do you want with me?"

Marko leaned close, ignoring the question. "All black again, eh? _ Nice _ shirt."

"Get out of my way," Eddie gritted, feeling his teeth starting to lengthen into fang points.

"Hard way it is, then."

Marko's eyes flicked to a point behind Eddie right around the time when Parker's spider-sense suddenly flared up inside their skull. Eddie was already starting to duck the attack from the front, eyes on Marko, when he suddenly became aware of the presence of a _ second _ person behind him; unlike Marko, this person was much more skilled at moving about unnoticed. Eddie spun around and found himself on the end of a sparking baton shoved into his stomach. Electricity coursed through them – not enough to incapacitate, but just enough that Eddie lost his balance for a second.

It only took a second for the Silver Bitch to slap on _ something _ around his neck.

Eddie had barely enough time to reach up, feel his fingers brush against some kind of thin collar and register the fact it was _ humming _ before another bolt of electricity hit him, this time through his neck.

Eddie cried out and staggered. But he didn't go down.

In fact, they were now _ very _ angry, electric collar or not, and it wouldn't matter if these two saw them transform: there wouldn't be anything left to betray their secret. Eddie was already well in his way toward transforming, snarling, when Marko tried to grab him from behind, a needle in his hand and then suddenly jabbed in the side of Eddie's exposed neck.

Venom roared at this and responded with an elbow backward into Marko's face.

He got a delicious sort of pleasure watching the man stumble backward, half his caved-in cheek just a sandy mess and still trying to reform, his left eye sunken into the grains. That pleasure turned to pain, however, as that cursed collar delivered another powerful jolt, sending him stumbling and clawing madly at the thing. Spitting and snarling, they rounded on the Silver Bitch, eyes falling on the device she held in her other hand. So _ she _ was in control of the collar!

Venom lunged at the woman, pushing off the floor in a bound and closing the distance between them even as she triggered the collar again. He convulsed at the charge running through his neck, nearly tripped, and gave Sandman the opening he was looking for. The next thing Venom knew, he was flying to the side, the row of vending machines crunching under his weight as he slammed into them _ hard_. Snarling, tongue lashing, Venom pushed off from the mangled, flattened wreck of a soda machine, eyes on Sandman as he circled to put the man between him and a nearby window, a claw reaching up to tear the infernal collar _ off_. It seemed to refuse attempts to just stretch it off, expanding when they did only to snap back.

Another stabbing shock as he touched the metal of the collar. Venom howled, green blood starting to drip past his fangs as they struggled to keep their form together, the black surface of their skin starting to bubble and boil. The symbiote was weakening from the continued charges, and whatever Sandman injected them with was starting to work.

Venom kept an eye on the Silver Bitch keeping a respectful distance and also one on Sandman: Marko was up against the window now, his hands both massive clubs of sand. They were closer to him than the human female.

Feinting toward the Silver Bitch, Venom pounced and hit Sandman in a tackle, wrapping him in a bear hug as they impacted with the window behind him. Glass shattered outward under their combined weight. Free fall. Hissing, Venom snapped at whatever of Marko he could get within reach of, holding onto a shirt that seemed to give way and trying to grab for _ something _ to hold onto as they spun out into empty space several floors up from the parking lot.

Wind whistled past Venom's face as he wrestled with Sandman, shooting a claw out at the striped shirt before him. It gave…only to solidify, trapping his fist in his stomach and _ not _ spilling strings of guts like he'd intended. Marko grimaced up at his opponent and swung a clumsy punch, sand swirling out from the blow. Venom's head snapped back, seeing stars they shouldn't even be seeing in the first place, and almost lost his grip, trapped claw flying free as he started to slip off.

The ground rushed at them. Forcing himself to focus and shake off the stars swimming in his vision, Venom extended a claw up and fired off a black line of webbing. It caught, held, and he came to a jarring stop in mid-fall, the web-line recoiling to bounce him up again in the air: he flipped backward onto the wall, watching Marko plummet the remaining floors to ground level. He hit the parking lot in an explosion of sand that set off several car alarms.

Perched on the wall and crawling his way down, Venom snarled to himself, all nice and worked up and ready to start killing things. They weren't hungry and he doubted very much that they could have much use for a brain made out of sand, but that didn't mean they had to deny themselves the pleasure of killing Flint Marko just because of a little problem like that. Leaping straight down for the last floor, Venom landed easily and stood up. The collar bothered him, humming against his flesh, and yet not with the same comforting sense of cold that he was used to. It was _ alien_.

At least it wasn't shocking him – they probably had a few minutes before it did, at best, before Silver Bitch covered those seven floors and got into range.

Ignoring it for now, Venom stalked across the parking lot, claws curled into fists. Already he could see Sandman reforming, leaning up against a parked SUV, face still a misshapen lump of grainy debris that was growing more and more detailed and lifelike. Rage fueled them, made them want to rip out Marko's spinal cord and beat him to death with it (see how he liked _ that _!), but was still left with the fact that it was looking impossible to get any real hits on him when he'd just slip through their claws like water.

Well. If they couldn't go with Choice A of Spinal Cord Bludgeoning (his personal preference), then they would just have to go with Choice B: anything else. Venom turned toward the small car next to him – a Volkswagen, according to Eddie Brock's memory – and grabbed it by the front, sinking his claws into metal and heaving it up with a grunt. The human part of them registered dizzy delight that they were now able to lift a goddamn _ car _ like it was made out of cardboard. It was rather unwieldy though, but would suit their purposes regardless. Fangs bared, and muscles bulging, Venom took a running step and then another to get some momentum, and released the Volkswagen into the air.

It was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen in his life.

The Volkswagen soared across the parking lot, its shadow looming over Flint Marko. The man had time to look up before the airborne car went crashing literally right on top of him, sand flying in every direction as the vehicle rolled once, twice, three times and then ploughed into a Jeep, glass tinkling as the front of the Jeep simply _ vanished _ with a deafening screech of metal on metal. The Volkswagen itself flipped over the Jeep only to flatten the convertible on the other side. No explosion, however, and that made them faintly sad: they supposed that car explosions were apparently not as common as the movies would have them seem.

The Volkswagen bought him some time to think; a minute, maybe, before Sandman could reform…or before the not-so-Fantastic Four were notified of a brawl going down on their home turf. There had to be a way to keep their enemy from reforming. Wracking their shared mind for what they knew about the property of sand – other than that it got everywhere – Venom came to the conclusion that he had to either scatter the sand so far that Marko couldn't reshape himself or somehow cement him together so that he couldn't just swirl away from their blows….

Their webbing. It wasn't by any means permanent, but it was sticky enough to do the job.

Climbing over the mess of the Jeep, which _ still _ wasn't on fire yet (disappointing), Venom vaulted down to the ground and headed straight for the man-shaped mound of sand. Marko was almost back to normal again, and looking suitably pissed off now that he'd been thrown out a seven story window _ and _ then had a car thrown at him.

"What was even the point of that?" Marko demanded, scowling. "Really, Mr. Brock, we're just draggin' this shit out when we don't have to. If you jus' came quietly with us like I asked, it'd be easier for everyone."

Venom's eyes narrowed to white slits, inching closer. "Why? So we can be your little guinea pig?"

"My boss would like a chat, is all. He's interested t'know about yourself an' your relationship with Spider-man."

"We'll pass," Venom was within claw range now. He swung at Marko's chest, making it the most glaringly obvious punch he could possibly make to an overconfident human who fancied himself invincible.

Marko took it in the chest as he had in the fall from the windows without flinching. He looked down at the trapped fist, and then at the fanged monster before him, raising an exasperated eyebrow in a _ not-this-again _ look.

The expression turned quickly to discomfort and finally to pain as Venom released all the webbing he could from his trapped hand. Realizing what he was up to, Marko released him, but it was too late: he was mostly solid now, and looking like he wanted to be violently sick, his tanned, craggy features pale. The hole in his chest was slower to close than earlier, leaking the same black discharge that was starting to dribble from the corners of the Sandman's mouth. Marko gagged, having trouble breathing, and coughing up more of the black liquid sticking to his lips.

Reaching down casually to wrench free the concrete parking curb at his feet, Venom took a moment to savor in the human panic starting to dawn on Marko's face as they locked eyes.

Marko most certainly didn't want to die, not like this.

And that just made it all the better, didn't it? Deliberately hefting the curb so that Marko had a good long look, Venom broke out into a malevolent, fang-filled smile:

"We _ did _ wonder if there was any way to hurt you, Man of Sand," Venom glanced down at the curb. How to do this? They could easily knock Marko's head right off his shoulders with this…or they could start with the limbs and work their way up. He rather liked that one. "And now we know!"

Venom swung the curb at Marko's arm: the curb shattered on impact, but so did the arm, dissolving into thick flakes of solidified sand held together with the sticky black webbing.

"_Aarrgh_!"

"My, my, now you've gone all _ lop-sided_. We can't have that, can we?" Venom reached out and grabbed at the other arm, sneering, his tongue flicking out to snake in the air. "We'll fix that for you _ right _ away!"

Marko, panting, glared up at Venom, miraculously still on his feet. "Y-y'might want to leave that."

Venom tightened his claws around Marko's flaking wrist and prepared to pull. "Tell me if this hurts – we're counting that it will."

"You'll be the one hurting," Marko gritted out. "You ugly fucker."

Venom frowned and then realized that Marko wasn't looking at him, but over his shoulder. Snarling, Venom spun around, claws ejected and reached for the petite woman who'd snuck on him not once, but twice now. Instead of backing up, she stepped even closer, and shoved that sparking baton's point at his exposed chest and actually _ stabbed _ the thing in him. Venom fell back with a pained roar, and reached up to bat the thing away, regaining his balance and looking up.

The Silver Bitch had that device out again…and she was cranking it even higher.

The collar around his neck erupted into life again. Electricity flooded their shared body, aided by whatever they'd been injected with, and the world flashed out of focus. Venom shrieked. _ On fire! _Every part of them was in agony, twitching and falling more and more out of their control, spiraling as the shocks continued to pulse through the ring of spreading numbness that started from their neck. Venom convulsed under the continued assault, fresh green blood – now speckled with human blood – trickled down their jaws and staining their fangs. He took a tortured step toward the woman.

And that was as far as they got.

Their Other winked out of consciousness shortly after Eddie Brock did.

Silver Sable couldn't help the sigh of relief as the black mutant finally went down for good this time. The black covering, like some kind of second skin, oozed out of sight in jerky spasms, leaving the human underneath to slump to the pavement in a naked heap. _ Best to be sure this time though_, she thought. The collar was still active if he should act up again, but she didn't want to kill him if she didn't have to; it was a miracle he'd lasted this long already. Rolling Brock over with her boot, she toed him hard in the ribs. Unresponsive. Bending down, she checked his pulse, lifting a limp, clammy wrist between her fingers. Yes, he was still alive…just very, very out of it.

"That fucker," Flint Marko panted behind her, voice sounding choked. "W-what did he do to me?"

The mercenary turned toward Marko and deftly stepped out of the way just as he vomited up a mess of black, sticky mud.

"I don't know," Silver Sable said. She hadn't been able to get a good look at what the creature did to Marko, but it didn't look good. "But maybe you should keep doing that."

Wincing with the effort it took to lift his arm, Marko wiped at his mouth. "I n-need more sand," he managed to get out before he bent over and began spitting up more black mud that was starting to look more like watery clay than anything else at this point. "Sand…and a tub of water. C-can't believe that thing took off my arm."

"When we get back to Fisk," Silver Sable said. "We've got to get out of here."

She bent down to pick up the mutant at their feet.

"Can you manage that?"

Silver Sable shot Marko a withering look. "I can handle Brock fine. You just keep throwing up."

Marko did just that, laboring after the woman once she got Brock arranged over her shoulders in a fireman's carry, and leaving a trail of wet, inky clay behind him. All Marko could think about was how he'd like to give this Eddie Brock some payback next chance he got.

The only thought Silver Sable had was one of pure satisfaction. They had their prize.

X

_ Brock's been gone an awfully long time. _

Long enough that Peter Parker was starting to feel that his suspicion was more than a little justified. A simple trip to the bathroom or anything like that shouldn't take this long, he thought, biting his lip and fidgeting in his seat. Peter couldn't imagine what the blond could be up to, but it was time to find out. Excusing himself, and feeling bad for turning his back on the presentation just as the live demonstration was going to take place, Peter walked into the aisle and toward the exit.

Entering the lobby, Peter glanced around. The doors were thick, but it sounded like there was some kind of…alarm? It was faint, but he was sure he could hear something through the soundproofing.

Pushing open the lobby doors, Peter ground to a halt, instinctively clapping his hands to his ears. Several car alarms were going off, piercing the air – and there was also several wrecked cars, looking as if something had bulldozed into them. One was even flipped upside down. Fishing in his pocket and feeling the comforting touch of his mask, Peter squinted, taking a hesitant step forward as he stared across the parking lot. There were one – no, two people off in the distance near the street. One was missing an arm and seemed as if he was really sick from the way he was puking his guts up all over the place. The other was a lady, shining against the black pavement thanks to her white outfit and silver hair -

Silver. And a lady?

Wait a minute…

That had to be the woman Brock mentioned earlier! Peter broke into a jog, ducking between the cars and trying to stay out of sight, feeling the camera hanging around the neck cord banging against his chest and wishing he'd left it with Ben Urich. Kneeling behind the wreck of a Jeep, Peter peeped around the corner of the back bumper and felt his jaw drop.

There was Sand Dude – minus an arm – and there was the crazy lady just like Brock said! Silver Lady was bending down over something on the ground, hauling what looked almost like a naked person up onto her shoulders.

Peter narrowed his eyes, holding onto the Jeep's steel bumper. Whoever he was, he didn't look like he was objecting to being naked or being carted around like so much luggage. In fact, he didn't even look like he was conscious, judging from the way he just seemed to _ flop_. However, he _ did _ look familiar. Peter stared at the man's head hanging down and realized with a sinking feeling that he already knew who it was.

Eddie Brock.

But how had they tracked him here? Peter was reasonably sure that Brock wasn't stupid enough to just go waltzing around as Venom out in the open and yet here he was. _ They knew his _ real _ identity_, Peter realized, eyes wide. _ But no one knows he's Venom but me… _

_ Oh my God. _

Brock had even said to his face that these people knew there was some kind of link between Venom and Spider-man…and the only way to link Spider-man to _ Eddie Brock _ was to know who Spider-man was underneath the mask. Peter's hands clenched, the metal of the bumper bending easily under his fingertips. So he _ had _ been followed for the past few weeks, it wasn't just his imagination! His secret identity was not-so-secret any more, nevermind Brock's.

Who _ were _ these people? And what did they want with Brock? What would they do now that they had their identities?

Peter wasn't sure yet if he intended to try to mount a rescue for Brock but he did know that he was still his responsibility. And it wasn't responsible to turn your back on a problem just because someone decided to take it off your hands.

There was no choice but to follow.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if there is anything I should change in future chapters, especially after chapter 9 is published, several people were disappointed with the original chapter 10 (Something Wicked). Also give me ideas for chapters. Let me know what you might like to see in future chapters.


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